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HICKS JAROU 

BY 

MRS. JAMES C. FIFIELD 



BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER, PUBLISHER 
THE GORHAM PRESS 










Copyright 1926 by Richard G. Badger 


All Rights Reserved 





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Printed in the United States of America 
The Gorham. Press, BpsTON, U. S. A. 

FEB-5’27';' . 

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TO MY HUSBAND 
In grateful appreciation of his 
encouragement and assistance. 



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HICKS JAROU 



i 



HICKS JAROU 

CHAPTER I. 

How would you like to find yourself in a position where you 
were compelled to accept, as a demonstrated fact, something 
that your common sense told you couldn’t possibly have hap¬ 
pened? A bit embarrassing, eh? 

Well then, perhaps you can sympathize with the leading 
citizens of Royalton — the Smart Set of Royalton — as sane 
a people as can be found in the sanest of Eastern cities — a 
people who boast that they take nothing for granted — the 
you’ve-got-to-show-me sort of people. 

It happened in 1920, and even today they are obliged to admit 
that it happened, although all known natural laws were thereby 
transcended. They hate to talk about it. They usually change 
the subject whenever anyone, new in Royalton, recalls the pub¬ 
lished reports that dealt with the situation between the years of 
1921 and 1924, and asks them when they last saw Hicks Jarou. 

You have guessed that Royalton is not the name of the city 
where the events you are to read about took place; soon you 
will understand why a fictitious name must be used. Please 
remember that this story tells of something that you’ll declare 
could not have happened, yet which the sanest citizens of 
Royalton must forever declare did take place. You are warned 
that even the friendliest ridicule will not be tolerated, when 
these good people are obliged to admit that it really did. 

The very mention of Hicks Jarou causes a decided upheaval 
in the angry passions of Royalton’s Smart Set, but among 
scientists he stands at the head of the section devoted to bio¬ 
logical research. 


7 


8 


HICKS JAROU 


Royalton is a thriving city with a government of its own 
and all the extravagances of modern life, yet it is near enough 
to New York city to speak of itself as “a suburb, really, don’t 
you know ?” There are few towns of its size that can boast more 
millionaires. It has a very self-satisfied social set who receive 
invitations to the most exclusive affairs of New York, Boston 
and Washington — and some of them have desirable invita¬ 
tions from Philadelphia. It has the further distinction of 
having first been tried out by more than one person of dis¬ 
tinguished appearance who was afterward received in the larger 
cities and entertained, as members of aristocratic families from 
other lands would expect to be entertained — quite royally! 
Do you get the touch of irony in the name, Royalton? One 
feels rather mean to add — what Royalton never mentions — 
that usually their aristocratic friends proved to be disappointing. 
Sometimes they left the larger cities two jumps ahead of an 
officer. 

But everyone in Royalton had declared, as soon as they met 
him, that Lord Percy Southdown was different. They said he 
was the real thing. The name we have selected for his appear¬ 
ance in this story hardly does justice to his distinguished per¬ 
sonality, but the family whose name he borrowed must not be 
given any more undesirable publicity, therefore the pseudonym. 
Lord Percy bore wonderful letters of introduction, but he seldom 
exhibited them. He didn’t talk much about himself — but 
somehow there are news items about royalty that always manage 
to get themselves known. To all intents and purposes he was 
what Royalton wanted him to be. The Social Set made much of 
him, and rejoiced that he appeared to feel so much at home 
among them. 

Before many months it became understood that Lord Percy 
would marry Beatrice Willis, and there were mothers of pretty 
daughters who were frankly dissatisfied with his choice. It 
must be added, that they lived to rejoice that he had not chosen 


HICKS JAROU 


9 


one of their daughters, but since that is really not a part of 
this story, it can be dismissed with this casual reference. 

The point is that if Lord Percy Southdown had not asked 
Beatrice to marry him, and if she had not taken the matter 
under consideration,—in fact, appeared willing to marry him— 
it is quite certain that what happened might never have taken 
place. You see, Franklin Potter wanted Beatrice for himself, 
and he got busy. 

Franklin Potter owned Royalton’s leading paper, which was 
tottering when he bought it, and was now a power. He had 
lived in Royalton a year longer than Lord Percy, but he hadn’t 
become as popular. He believed there was no reason for that 
except his lack of a title. He was a lawyer as well as a news¬ 
paper man, and was well read on all the important topics of 
Jl e day. He had offices in the best building in town, and no 

her offices in Royalton were as lavishly furnished. He gave 
every evidence of having plenty of money. He paid cash for 
everything he purchased. He had the best rooms in the best 
hotel. He dressed to perfection. He spent money generously, 
and entertained as often as he could manage to secure desirable 
guests. He was better looking than Lord Percy, but not as 
distinguished in appearance. The only suspicious point in his 
case, so far as Royalton could say, was that he never mentioned 
his birthplace or his family, told no one of his earlier years, 
and allowed no one to know how he happened to have so much 
money. It had been ascertained that he received a bank draft 
every month, and that he had no bank account. 

Although Franklin Potter’s paper, The Royalton Star, gained 




in importance after he took it over, he didn’t appear 


to do much himself, either as editor or manager, both of which 
offices he held. But he had money enough to hire the best 
help available, and it soon became apparent that he knew how to 
choose. His paper alone would have given him a fairly strong 
position in the social life of Royalton, if only more could have 
been known about the man himself. An editor who did not do 


10 


HICKS JAROU 


editorial work; a lawyer who did not practice law; why the 
extravagant suite of offices? 

There was something of a sensation when it became known 
that Franklin Potter considered himself an authority on geneal¬ 
ogical lore. The study and investigation of genealogies was 
his hobby. He declared openly that he knew nearly all there 
was to be known about that most fascinating topic. Royalton’s 
ladies became quite excited over it. Who knew how many of 
them might be entitled to a coat of arms—not that it really 
mattered, of course, only it was interesting—gave them some¬ 
thing new to think about. They visited Franklin Potter in his 
beautiful offices, and few of the ladies told their friends they 
were going. 

“Yes,” said Franklin, gravely, “It is a wonderfully inter¬ 
esting study.” 

He finally decided that he might be induced to study the 
past history of a few families—those whose histories were really 
interesting—but he gave warning that his prices would be high. 
On the other hand clients were assured that they would be 
treated with the greatest sympathy, and absolute secrecy could 
be depended upon. Franklin Potter soon had more work than 
he could do. 

Lord Percy Southdown was not one of Potter's clients; 
therefore there could have been no promise of secrecy. Any¬ 
how, closely following the reports of the engagement of Beatrice 
Willis to Lord Percy, it became known—or suspected—that 
once more Royalton had been deceived, and that Lord Percy 
Southdown was not what they had believed him to be. That 
was a shock. Leading citizens actually threatened Franklin in 
sugar-coated and highly civilized speech which really means 
when reduced to its lowest terms, put up or shut up. Without 
more ado, in a most businesslike manner, Franklin Potter 
proved his point concerning his rival. The Royalton Star 
carried the expose, which was masterly in its presentation, and 
horribly convincing. Royalton had been fooled again, and 


HICKS JAROU 


11 


almost hated the man who had opened their eyes to their own 
sickening gullibility. Incidentally, however, Potter had greatly 
added to his prestige as a genealogist, and could not be ignored. 
He now knew too much about everybody. 

It was expected that Lord Percy would leave town as quickly 
and as quietly as possible—and he did, but not as expected. He 
was spectacular to the last. His dead body was found jammed 
into a sewer not a hundred feet from the hotel where he had 
lived. It appeared that he had been murdered. His rooms 
gave no evidence that he had been planning to leave town either 
quickly or quietly. They were paid for a month in advance. 

Lord Percy left a will that had been drawn just a week before 
Franklin Potter’s terrible discovery that Percy’s father was 
a mechanic in Yorkshire, before he died—not even an overseer, 
but that he had worked with his hands. Percy left his property 
—some ten thousand dollars—to Franklin Potter. 

“I may be killed for knowing too much about poor Potter 
and his benefactor,” he wrote, “and I want to leave what I 
have to the poorest man I know. I therefore will and bequeath 
all I have left to Franklin Potter, his heirs and assigns forever, 
and may Heaven have mercy on his shrunken little soul. With 
this bequest goes a deeper sympathy for the poor cuss than can 
possibly be put into words.” 

When that will was made public, Franklin Potter turned pale. 
He quite suddenly looked stricken—like a very old man whose 
last dollar has been stolen by the friend he had most trusted. 
He opened his mouth—closed it—opened it—closed it—for 
all the world like a suffocating fish; and his hands beat the 
air weakly as he sought for words to express his horror and 
indignation. If he had quarreled with Percy—perhaps struck 
him, not expecting to kill him—and then discovered that he 
had killed a man who only wished to befriend him—in such an 
event one could imagine that a man might look exactly as 
Franklin did look when his amused friends sought to con¬ 
gratulate him on account of his inheritance. 


12 


HICKS JAROU 


“Not a large sum to be sure,” they murmured—“especially 
to a man of your resources; still, ten thousand is ten thousand— 
not to be sneezed at, old boy—not by any manner of means to 
be sneezed at.” 

“But I don’t want that money,” he finally managed to gasp. 
“I don’t want the damned stuff. I won’t have it. Why in 
creation should the crazy fool have left it to me! And why his 
absolutely unfounded insinuations!” 

That was a question that rapidly became of general interest. 
Why had Percy Southdown left all he had to Franklin Potter? 
To Franklin Potter to whom a sum like that was evidently a 
mere bagatelle. Whom did he think was Franklin’s benefactor? 
Why had Percy said he considered Franklin the poorest man 
he knew? Did he really know anything about Franklin’s past 
life? Why had he sympathized with him very much as a kindly 
man would sympathize with a suffering dog? Finally, would 
he have left his money to Franklin had he known of the exposure 
that was so soon to be printed in the genealogical department 
of The Royalton Star? It had been ascertained that the will 
had been drawn two days before that exposure. Poor Percy’s 
death had not followed so swiftly that he could not have had 
time to change his will had he wanted to. He had quite evidently 
expected to be murdered; who did he think would kill him? 
Franklin Potter? But in that case would he have left his money 
to Franklin? 

Who was the murderer? Royalton talked of nothing else 
until after the funeral—which everyone attended. But it was 
a topic that soon lost interest. Could Society be expected to 
feel as it would have felt had not Lord—ahem! poor Percy— 
made his cruel deception the background of a long list of social 
experiences the mere recollection of which brought goose-flesh 
on the tender frames of Royalton’s most exclusive set? Most 
certainly not. 

Franklin Potter expressed a desire to devote his life to dis¬ 
covering the murderer of Percy, and society applauded. Under 


HICKS JAROU 


13 


the circumstances could the man do less? There were one 
or two private detectives who believed a very pretty case might 
be worked up against Franklin—but no one sought their services. 

So far as this story is concerned Percy's death is not a 
matter of so much moment, just now, as was the effect of that 
death on Franklin Potter’s future. To have robbed Percy of 
his self-assumed title would have been quite sufficient to remove 
him from the list of suitors accredited to Miss Beatrice Willis. 

It was decided that Franklin could gain nothing by also 
removing the man. He was never openly accused of the murder. 
No one really believed that he did it, or forgot that he was the 
only one who had cause for doing it. And yet he was not forced 
out of the social swim. 

Gossips declared that the loss of his title might not have 
caused Beatrice to break her engagement with Percy. She had 
never appeared to be as interested in such things as her mother 
was. They believed she might have liked Percy quite as well if 
he had had no title at all—a point wherein Franklin Potter 
did not agree with the gossips. It was, however, quite univer¬ 
sally conceded that the deception the man had practiced would, of 
course, have proven absolutely unforgivable. Everyone knew 
that Beatrice was a stickler for absolute honesty. It was 
noticed that she shed no tears at Percy’s funeral. It also be¬ 
came known that she refused to see Franklin Potter when he 
called on the evening following the funeral, and that she 
charged the servants to make it quite clear to him that she 
did not wish him to call again. Later, she declared that she 
was not interested when told that Franklin had given the 
Southdown bequest to a charitable institution of which she 
was one of the sustaining members. She looked incredulous 
when told of Franklin’s intention to hunt down Percy’s mur¬ 
derer. 

With poor Percy decently buried, Royalton felt that it had 
done all that could be expected of a town he had so cruelly 
hoaxed, no matter how much he had made himself beloved. 


14 


HICKS JAROU 


They agreed, quite magnanimously, that Percy had been popular; 
that his company had been constantly sought for; that he had 
been the life of every party, and that his presence had served 
to add to the aristocratic tone of every event. He would be 
missed, of course; but they could not be expected to lose any 
more sleep on his account. They had done very well, indeed, 
not to damn his memory, as he deserved. Instead they would 
dismiss him from their minds from that moment. 

And then came the morning papers with a story almost too 
gruesome to be believed. 

Old Wash Harris, the negro grave digger employed by 
Royalton’s very elegant and up-to-date moratorium, chanced 
to remember that he had left a favorite spade near the new-made 
grave of Percy Southdown, and went out to the cemetary to 
get it before someone stole it. He went on his motorcycle, at a 
moderate rate of speed, enjoying the wonderful moonlight. He 
returned as if the devil were traveling close behind him, and 
his complexion was as nearly ashy as a negro’s face ever gets. 
He was too scared to tell what had frightened him—that is, so 
as to make himself clearly understood. There was something 
about a tall thin dark man with hoofs and a tail who was working 
in his shirt-sleeves beside the grave of Percy Southdown. But 
Percy was not in his grave. He was sitting up in his coffin, 
with his chin on his breast. Wash had seen him as plainly as 
he had even seen anything in his life. No, sah! he had not 
been drinking. He saw jes’ zactly what he said he had seen. 
He saw the man take off his cap to wipe the perspiration from 
his forehead— 

“Oh, Wash, Wash! Does the devil perspire?” 

“And does he wear a cap ? Perhaps of asbestos ?” 

But Wash paid no attention to interruptions. He knew 
that his eyes could not have deceived him. He knew he was 
not drunk. He knew that he had seen exactly what he was 
trying to describe, and that it was enough to have scared 
almost any other man into fits—but he, himself was not so 


HICKS JAROU 


15 


easily frightened. He admitted that he had shivered all up 
and down his spine, but he had not fallen in a fit. 

The tall man, who looked like the devil, had taken off his 
cap to wipe the perspiration from his forehead, and Wash saw 
that he had three eyes. “Yaas, Sah, three eyes! That's how 
I knowed I was alooking at the devil hisself. Two of the 
eyes was where a man’s eyes ought to be, and the other was on 
his forehead, just a little above his nose. Yaas, Sah, and every 
eye was wide open, shining like fire, and a winking like mad!” 

Wash added that he did not stay to see anything else. He 
had seen enough. 

Of course no one believed him. Who could believe a crazy 
yarn like that ? But—the reporters who rode out to the cemetary 
hoping to learn what Wash had seen, and perhaps get material 
for a story, got more than they expected. Percy Southdown’s 
grave was open and beside it stood the coffin he had so lately 
occupied—and the coffin was empty. 

Clearly a case of grave robbing, said Royalton, quite casually. 
Distressing, of course. No one likes to think of a relative being 
cut up by medical students. But this man had no relatives to 
make the proper fuss about it, and surely no more could be 
expected of those who had been his friends, considering what 
he had done to them, than what they had already done for him. 
They had seen him decently buried, once; why should they 
be expected to do the job over again! And so the matter was 
relegated to the background—at least for the time being. Had 
they only known when next it would be brought to their 
attention! 

Beatrice Willis now became the favored subject of discussion 
among the more malicious of her friends. Mrs. Willis writhed 
when she thought what they were probably saying about her 
beautiful daughter. She knew what could happen to a member 
of their set who had the undesirable gift of exciting the envy 
of her associates; she herself had made it happen to others 
on more than one occasion—and it is true that chickens do have 


16 


HICKS JAROU 


a habit of coming home to roost. Not only was she made un¬ 
comfortable by the thought of what was being said, but the 
seeming indifference of Beatrice aroused her indignation. She 
was not in her daughter’s confidence. She did not know exactly 
how Beatrice was feeling about the death of the man she had 
promised to marry, and so she went to the task of making the 
girl understand the situation with considerably less tact than 
she would otherwise have employed. 

“I supposed it would be barely possible,” she said, ironically, 
“for you to imagine what is being said about you!” 

“Referring to Percy?” asked Beatrice, in a tone of voice 
that should have warned her mother that she was treading on 
dangerous ground. 

“Referring to Percy,” replied Mrs. Willis, heavily. 

Beatrice laughed nervously. “It is a good joke on me, isn’t 
it, mother?” she replied, in a manner she hoped was quite non¬ 
chalant. “After capturing the charming young Lord whom all 
the other girls wanted, and then to find out what he was or 
wasn’t”—she went off into a peal of mechanical laughter. 
“And then”—wiping the tears from her eyes—if there were 
tears—“and then to find myself so suddenly—so very completely 
minus any cavalier at all—won’t that simply be nuts for the 
girls? Of course, dear, I can imagine all you are trying to tell 
me, and a great deal more.” 

She was careful not to explain how the situation affected her. 
She preferred to keep that to herself. 

“You seem to find the situation amusing.” Mrs. Willis 
was indignant. 

Beatrice stared, quite as if she were astonished at her mother’s 
lack of perception. “Why, mother, don’t you? Wouldn’t you 
be amused if it had happened to any other girl ? Of course you 
would! I can just hear you saying—well, pretty much what 
others are saying about me.” 

“Our own position is too tragic for me to think of hypothe¬ 
tical cases.” 

“Tragic?” 


HICKS JAROU 


17 


“As I said. Absolutely tragic.” And then the mother lost 
her poise—became tearful and pathetic. “Oh, my little girl, 
you must understand—” she wailed, “you must! I’ve realized 
it for so long—been so frightened—I did my best, Beatrice— 
I wanted you to be happy—I hoped you need never know—Oh, 
my dear, my dear, I don’t know what to do next! I don’t know 
what is going to become of us now!” 

Beatrice was alarmed. Her mother’s face was a picture of 
despair. She had never seen her look like this—why, as if she 
were really terribly frightened. Afraid of what? 

“Mother,” she exclaimed, “what do you mean? What is the 
matter? You look so—so odd—not like yourself at all. Are 
you ill?” 

“I am terribly worried. If — if Lord Percy — Percy 
Southdown—had been what we thought him—and you had 
married him—” 

“Aren’t you glad I didn’t?’ A curious light burned in the 
girl’s eyes as she asked the question. In her heart crept the 
hope that perhaps her mother would understand—would sym¬ 
pathize— 

“Of course I am glad—as it has turned out; but I had hoped 
that—you can’t realize how I had hoped that—that he’d save 
us—” 

“Save us? Save us from what?” 

“Absolute ruin. We are in debt—I have no money—I don’t 
know which way to turn.” 

“Aren’t we well-to-do — rich ?” 

“We have never been rich. We have lived beyond our 
means. I had hoped you’d make a good marriage—before we 
reached the end of our resources—” 

“If we had no money why have we been living as if we were 
able to afford all we have had?” 

“Can’t you understand? It was that you might have every 
opportunity. I was so sure you’d be able to come to the rescue— 
in time—now don’t get on that expression! You can’t be 


18 


HICKS JAROU 


stubborn, now! You’ve got to understand—and help. If you 
don’t come to the rescue—” 

“I shall look for work this very day.” 

“Work!” What could you do in this day of trained efficiency? 
You don’t know how to work. We have no money to give you 
the necessary training—and no time. In years you might be 
able to support yourself; but what about me? What about me, 
Beatrice? I’ve given everything I have—everything I am—to 
you. What are you going to do for me ? Have you no thought 
for me? I do not believe you would deliberately desert your 
old mother.” 

“Desert you—of course not. I’ll help—somehow. I’ll find 
a way. Don’t shake your head as if you had no faith. What 
do you want me to do?” 

“There is but one thing you can do. You must marry a man 
who can take the burden off my shoulders—some one who is 
able to support us both. You must do it soon. I’m breaking. 
I can’t stand much more. I am putting it cruelly, I know; but 
you must understand; you must! Our situation is desperate.” 

“But mother! Listen! Who am I to marry? Percy is 
dead—and even if—after the exposure— I could have forgiven 
him—” her voice broke. Tears were near the surface—but 
she forced them back. 

“Don’t waste time thinking of him. He isn’t worth a thought 
—not even a condemnatory thought. We can’t consider what 
might have been, Beatrice, or what we’d prefer. We confront a 
situation that must be met at once, that is why I want to talk 
to you about Franklin Potter-” 

“Franklin Potter! Never.” 

“Why not ? He is respected—” 

“You mean he was respected.” 

“No one believes Percy knew anything against Franklin. 
If he had, he would have told what he knew. It was a sneaking 
trick to hint at something in a will—a will that he knew wouldn’t 



HICKS JAROU 


19 


be read in time for Franklin to get back at him. It was on a 
par with all the rest that Percy Southdown did to us.” 

“Mother, I’d rather you wouldn’t mention Percy—like that.” 

“You don’t mean you are going to stand up for him—after 
all he did to you!” 

“I’m not standing up for him, but I don’t care to hear any¬ 
thing against him.” 

“Because you are letting what he said influence you against 
Franklin Potter.” 

“No, I don’t think I am. But some one killed Percy—” 

“I don’t believe it. Anyhow, Franklin Potter didn’t do it. 
Everyone exonerates him. You have no right to make such a 
horrible charge—” 

“Oh, I didn’t really mean it as a charge. I presume Franklin 
must be innocent since everyone says he is.” 

“Franklin Potter is really one of Royalton’s leading citizens. 
He goes in the best society. He is an authority on subjects that 
most of our set are too lazy to read about. He has a good 
financial position—owns a paper that must be making a lot of 
money—and he is crazy about you.” 

“I am not the least bit crazy about him. I have told him 
never to come here again.” 

“What have you against him, omitting that absurd charge 
that you say yourself is not tenable?” 

“Nothing that I can define; but I don’t like him. I feel that 
he isn’t genuine, somehow. I have felt that way about him 
since I first met him. I feel that he has a past of which he is 
too ashamed to speak. I feel that he is not sure about his 
future—his eyes have a look, sometimes, as if he felt spooks 
breathing on the back of his neck.” 

“All of which may sound smart to you, my dear—but have 
you said one thing that would be a good and sufficient reason 
why you should neglect the only opportunity you have to rescue 
me from certain ruin ? Think it over. Let us no(t talk any more 


20 


HICKS JAROU 


about it now. Fve tried to make you understand our position. 
Fve done all I can. The matter now rests with you.” 

“Fve said Fd never see him again—” 

“But / have said nothing of the sort, and I shall let him know 
that his presence is desired at tea this afternoon/ 

“This afternoon! Oh, mother, what do you expect of me?” 
There were tears in her voice. 

“Just treat him as if nothing had happened. You can do 
that much for me, can’t you—at least until you’ve given yourself 
time to think over what Fve told you?” 

“Mother, I may as well confess it—I loved Percy, dearly— 
dearly—with my whole heart—” again her voice broke, and 
tears had to be forced back. 

“Well, what of it? You can’t possibly love him now.” 

“Nor can I love anyone else. I’m not going to let the world 
know I suffer—but, mother, can’t you understand what I’m 
going through? I tell you, I loved Perc)'.” 

“I’m sorry, dear. I wish we weren’t obliged to consider 
anyone else for a time. But we must, Beatrice, we must. 
Remember that I am suffering, too. I am suffering terribly. 
We can’t bring Percy back. You would not marry him, even 
he were to rise from the grave this minute. You must forget 
him, dear, and help your mother, who would give her heart’s 
blood to help you. And the only way you can help is by making 
a suitable marriage very soon.” 


CHAPTER II. 


Afternoon tea was being served in the Willis home. Mrs. 
Willis understood how to make this simple act of hospitality 
appear like a real function, and her parlors were usually quite 
comfortably filled every afternoon between four and six. For 
a long time she had been able to entertain in no other way, but 
although her social circle might suspect that, they could not be 
certain, for none of them had ever gotten close enough to her to 
dare to question her about her private affairs. But they enjoyed 
going to her afternoon teas because they could be quite sure of 
meeting someone there whom they cared to see. 

Mr. Willis had been dead twelve years. He was supposed 
to have left his family well provided for—but all that was 
known positively was that his widow kept up their beautiful 
old home and sent Beatrice to an expensive school, where she 
had been a leader of the girls best worth knowing. 

Beatrice had personality and charm. She was good looking 
but not beautiful, although her dark gray eyes, abundant wavy 
hair of brightest chestnut hue, and her nearly perfect complexion 
had often brought her the beauty prize, in school and social 
events, that really might better have been claimed by more than 
one of her associates. She was well built, of the athletic type, 
and she excelled in out of door sports. She was vivacious and 
magnetic, but not of an emotional nature. She kept her inmost 
thoughts to herself. It was as easy to think of her marrying 
without love as to try to picture her dying of a broken heart. 
She had the reflective order of mind required to think things 
out in logical sequence, combined with a strength of will to 
carry out whatever purpose she might finally decide upon. The 
student of physiognomy would quickly see that she would be 
more likely to decide upon a course out of the ordinary, if left 


21 


22 HICKS JAROU 

to her own choice, than one prescribed by custom or con¬ 
ventionality. 

“Couldn’t we deny ourselves to guests just this once,” she 
had pleaded. “Somehow, my brain feels all rumpled up, since 
our talk this morning, and I’d like time to pat it down a little.” 

“It wouldn’t be wise, Beatrice, to make any change in our 
plans just now,” was the mother’s decisive reply. “If we must 
go down, let it be with flags flying.” 

“I see. Of course you are right about it. I’m trying to be 
a good sport. Are you really expecting Mr. Potter ?” 

“I am hoping he will come,” was the significant response. 
“Beatrice, dear, I wish I could make you understand how very 
tired I am. I have had no rest since your father died, and I 
am terribly frightened. Our future looks hideous, when I try 
to picture it.” 

“Poor old Mumsy,” replied Beatrice in her boyishly affec¬ 
tionate manner. “We’ll just have to get busy, won’t we, and 
see what can be done? I won’t fail you—that is, unless you 
spring something too utterly preposterous.” 

“You are a good daughter,” murmured the mother. 

“Of course I am,” rejoined Beatrice blithely. “Don’t I know 
what the modem heroine would do? She’d remind you that 
she had her own life to live and was determined to live it 
in her own way. I’ve heard the girls talk—and I’ve done my 
share of the talking—and we all meant what we said, too.” 

“I know, dear. I’ve had my dreams.” 

“Really, Mumsy, you have much to be thankful for! Think 
of your wonderful daughter! Why I might be bringing forward 
a poor but beautiful young man, at this juncture, and intro¬ 
ducing him as the only man I ever could or would love. You are 
missing all that. I might strike a most dramatic pose—” she 
struck at— “and declare. T will die, cru-e-el par-i-ent, ere I’ll 
sell my soul for gold.’ There! I thought I’d make you laugh, 
if I kept at it long enough. Now you’re ready to be the perfect 
hostess, as per usual.” 


HICKS JAROU 


23 


An hour later Beatrice had taken her place in the living room, 
charming in a simple gown of pale blue voile, and as gay as if 
she had not that day listened, for the first time in her life, to 
a financial problem that she could not forget and no possible 
solution for which could she imagine. She had greeted Franklin 
as nonchalantly as if she had never said she would not see him 
again. 

“Tea, Mrs. Somers?” she asked, making her duties as hostess 
serve as an excuse to hasten from the side of the puzzled but 
enraptured Franklin. 

“No tea, thanks!” replied Mrs. Somers, “it ruins my 
complexion.” 

“Some of these little cakes, then?” 

“No; cakes are as bad as tea. Are you wondering why I 
never miss one of your mother’s tea parties, when I always 
decline tea?” 

“We are flattered because you never do.” 

“Listen, dear!” she pretended to whisper, “I come for the 
gossip. Nowhere else in the world can I hear what I want 
to hear—and told so delightfully!” 

Beatrice laughed. “I’m not sure,” she said, “but I ought to 
resent that. However, let me advise you to drag Mr. Potter 
away from mamma’s chair, and take him into a corner. You 
know he usually has something of interest to tell.” 

“Did you ever know him to tell it before the crowd gathered ? 
Franklin Potter can’t be effective without an audience.” 

“He is theatrical,” admitted Beatrice, “but he’s entertaining— 
and for that we ought all to be grateful.” 

“Oh, I forgive him his sins three times a day if necessary. 
I like him. The trouble is, he doesn’t seem to be greatly inter¬ 
ested in me. He has eyes only for you and your mother. Tell 
me, dear, which one of you does Franklin want to marry? 
Whatever you reply shall be considered strictly confidential.” 

“Of course,” mocked Beatrice, “it would be until the time 
came for you to score by telling it.” 


24 


HICKS JAROU 


“Now, Beatrice! You know you do me a cruel injustice.” 

“If I do, I’ll apologize—someday—when I’m convicted.” 

Beatrice turned to later arrivals, and Mrs. Somers wandered 
away in search of news that should make her afternoon seem 
worth while. She found Alfred Burton comfortably ensconced 
in the most inviting chair in the room. He looked lazy and 
insolent as she approached, and he feigned tragic terror. 

“Must I stand?” he asked, plaintively. 

“Why shouldn’t you?” she retorted. 

“I’m afraid you’ll make me offer you this chair. I’m afraid 
you’ll take it, if I leave it for a minute.” 

“It is the chair I like best. It is wonderfully placed; one 
can see all that goes on without turning one’s head.” 

“Most observing of ladies! You have hit on the very reason 
why I mean to keep it.” 

“Very well, I’ll try to be comfortable in this, since it happens 
to be near you.” Burton reached out a long arm and drew 
the other chair close. 

“Do be seated,” he urged, earnestly, “and end my suffering. 
You can’t think how my conscience stabs me—” 

“No, I can’t, because you haven’t any conscience. You’ve 
told me so yourself many a time—yes, you have, when you saw 
fit to appear confidential, you know, and wished to warn me 
that you never expected to marry.” 

Burton laughed. “If I said that to you,” he defended him¬ 
self, “It is because I was frightened. My heart was in danger—” 

“Nonsense! You have no heart.” 

“Well, whatever it is that supplies me with sentiment—” 

“You know nothing about sentiment. You have no romance, 
no ideality, none of the finer feelings. You actually do not 
care whether you are liked or not—but your audacious speeches 
give you a following.” 

“I seem to have a few friends,” he interrupted, mildly. 

“I am really the best friend you have.” 


HICKS JAROU 


25 


“You! My dear Mrs. Somers! You call yourself my friend, 
and all the time I have been afraid you wanted to marry me.” 

“I know you have, Alfred, and I’ve had a glorious time 
watching you struggle, but let me tell you something. If I 
had really wanted to marry you, we’d have been married quite 
some time ago. Who knows but we might be getting a divorce 
about now, and I’d have my hungry claws clasped about your 
money bags.” 

“From unseen dangers how mercifully have I been delivered!” 
ejaculated Burton with mock solemnity. 

“You surely have. Do you wish to show proper appreciation?” 

“If I can—without danger to myself.” 

“Then serve me with a nice dish of gossip, something new, 
if possible—but anyhow something.” 

“I’ll do my best. Where shall we begin?” 

“Tell me which one Franklin Potter wants to marry—the 
mother or the daughter?” with an expressive glance towards 
the beautifully appointed tea-table, where Mrs. Willis and her 
daughter were standing. 

“It is easier to declare that he’ll never get either one, and 
more to the point.” 

“Why not?” 

“What does he have—particularly—to recommend him?” 

“He is handsome, he carries himself well, he is well educated, 
he has a fascinating manner, and whatever he chooses to talk 
about, he is sure to make interesting.” 

“Yet how little is known of his past.” 

“That is true. He never says much about himself.” 

“He has lived in Royalton only about three years.” 

“And is already welcomed in our best society.” 

“Yes—but how did it happen? Who introduced him?” 

“Why—I don’t know. Queer, but I never thought to ask 
that question.” 


26 


HICKS JAROU 


“That’s what a winning personality does for a fellow. I’d 
never have gotten in as easily as that, had I come here a stranger, 
three years ago.” 

“Of course not; you don’t put yourself out to be agreeable.” 

“But the atmosphere doesn’t bristle with question marks, 
does it, whenever my name is mentioned?” 

“Question marks?” 

“My past is like an open book,” with emphasis on the pronoun. 

“Somehow, you don’t seem quite friendly to poor Franklin 
Potter.” 

“On the contrary, I like him very much. But if I had a 
daughter as charming and in every way desirable as Beatrice 
Willis, I should not want her to marry friend Potter.” 

“Why not?” 

“Promise not to tell ?” 

“Cross my heart—hope to die—” 

“Well, I happen to know that previous to his opening his 
very palatial offices here in Royalton—he was a briefless bar¬ 
rister in London.” 

“In London! Who told you that ?” 

“Percy Southdown.” 

“Oh, Percy! And you believed him!—Do you still believe 
everything that man said ?” 

“He came from Yorkshire—and was not unacquainted with 
London.” 

“But he left his money to Franklin.” 

“In a way that would hurt Franklin more than anything 
else he could have thought of. Had his will not been made 
before Franklin’s exposure of him, one would have said he had 
devised the most subtle revenge on record.” 

“Did Percy know why Franklin left London?” 

“He did not say. So far as I can tell, no one knows how 
long he had sat among his law books waiting for clients that 
never came; no one knows why the sudden change from the 
dingy London office to his wonderful suite in the most preten- 


HICKS JAROU 2 7 

tious building in our city, or how he managed to pay his fare 
over.” 

“Nonsense, he seems to have plenty of money.” 

“He certainly does—but it is whispered about that he does 
not have a bank account. It is true that he always pays his 
bills—but he never pays by check. 

“Well—so long as he pays—isn't that to his credit?” 

“It surely is, but somehow one doesn’t think of him as 
having come to stay.” 

“Do you think Mrs. Willis knows this?” 

“I think Franklin Potter will never become a member of 
her family until she has learned all there is to know about him. 
She is too shrewd for that.” 

By this time the usual guests had arrived, had chatted, had 
been served; some of them were now making ready to depart. 
Franklin Potter could not expect a larger audience if, as Mrs. 
Somers declared was true, an appreciative audience was neces¬ 
sary to whatever announcement he might be prepared to make. 
On this occasion, at least, the facts seemed to justify her 
cynicism. 

“By the way, Burton,” he said, raising his voice to reach 
that gentleman who still occupied his favorite chair at the 
further end of the room, “by the way, Burton, had you noticed 
the changes being made in the old Carrington property?” 

“No; but I heard it had been sold. Do you happen to know 
who bought it?” 

“A man named Hicks Jarou.” 

“Hicks Jarou ?” 

“He lived here, a short time, years and years ago, when 
he was a mere lad. I hear he is returning soon, and that he 
is making the Carrington place into a veritable mansion.” 

“He must be wealthy to do that,” commented Mrs. Somers. 
“Do tell me that he is enormously wealthy, and unmarried, 
and handsome, and only a few years older than I am. I’ve 


28 


HICKS JAROU 


always declared I’d never marry an old man for his money— 
but a comparatively young man—well, I might be tempted.” 

“I don’t know his age,” replied Potter, “but he is not married. 
In fact, he is said to be a woman hater.” 

“Good. That will add spice to the game. What about his 
bank account?” She bestowed a furtive wink on Burton as she 
asked the question. “A man can’t be so very interesting,” 
she added, “without a comfortable bank account.” 

“I am told that he left his legacy of a million dollars in a New 
York bank, when he disappeared some twenty-five or thirty 
years ago, and has never drawn a penny of it.” 

“How has he lived without it?” 

“No one knows.” 

“But twenty-five or thirty years ago!” wailed Beatrice; 
“that would make him horribly old. You’ve taken all the 
romance out of your story.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” drawled Mrs. Somers. “There seems to 
be plenty of mystery attached to the gentleman. With plenty 
of money and a spice of mystery, age doesn’t matter so much.” 

“Where did you say Mr. Jarou had been spending all those 
years?” asked Mrs. Willis. 

“I didn’t say,” replied Mr. Potter. “I don’t know. I don’t 
know of anyone who does know. One hears all manner of 
interesting stories about him, but who can say how authentic 
they are? I fancy, however, that he’ll be worth meeting.” 

“I believe I have met him in London,” she added, turning to 
her daughter, “just before your father and I were married.” 

“Did you, indeed!” exclaimed Mr. Potter, with unfeigned 
interest. “That must be when he had just returned from Africa.” 

“There was talk about Africa and diamond mines,” Mrs. 
Willis replied quite indifferently. “I don’t know—I wasn’t 
interested—all I recall is that he spent money like a prince.” 

“What was he like?” demanded Mrs. Somers. 


HICKS JAROU 


29 


“He was about the handsomest man I ever met—of dis¬ 
tinguished appearance—exceedingly polite—but so cynical—so 
absolutely sardonic in speech that he was not pleasant company 

“Cynical. Sardonic! He becomes more interesting every 
moment,” exclaimed Mrs. Somers as rapturously as if she really 
meant it. “Beatrice, you must persuade your mother to invite 
him to a tea, as soon as he comes—but remember, hands off! 
He belongs to me.” 

“I'm just wondering,” said Alfred Burton, “if I didn’t hear 
a queer story about this man, Jarou, a great many years ago.” 

“Alfred! Do you own a memory so ancient as all that?” 
Mrs. Somers spoke in a tone of mock reproach. 

“Do keep quiet, Evelyn,” admonished Mrs. Willis, “and let 
Alfred tell his story.” It was evident that Mrs. Willis wished 
to hear all that could be told of Hicks Jarou. 

“Have you a story up your sleeve?” asked the irrepressible 
widow. 

“Well, yes,” admitted Burton—“if you care to hear it.” 

“Don’t go, folks,” urged Beatrice, “Alfred is going to tell 
us a story,” and the guests who were about to depart turned back 
and found seats near Alfred Burton, who was known to be a 
delightful story teller, although difficult to get started. 

“Another cup of tea all around,” suggested Mrs. Willis. 
“Now, Alfred, begin, please.” 

“And make it spicy,” added Mrs. Somers. 

“You may not know,” began Burton, “that when I was a 
young fellow I spent several winters in the logging camps of 
Northern Minnesota.” 

“Logging camps!” echoed Beatrice, incredulously. “Not 
you!” 

“Not working!” exclaimed Mrs. Somers. 

“No; making the other man work.” 

“That sounds more like it.” 

“To make others work was my proud privilege. The incident 
you bring to mind by your talk of Hicks Jarou occurred in 1870. 


30 


HICKS JAROU 


There were ten of us in camp that winter, a Swede, a Russian, 
a German, a Pole and an Irishman, none of whom were American 
born; also the north, east, south and west divisions of the United 
States were represented by characteristic specimens of civiliza¬ 
tion, each of whom had received an appropriate nickname. It 
was, of course, a foregone conclusion that the gentleman from 
the eastern states should be called Old Plymouth Rock, no 
matter how he might look or act; but it pleased us that the sob¬ 
riquet fitted him so neatly.” 

“It wasn’t Hicks Jarou, I hope—this Old Plymouth Rock,” 
interpolated Mrs. Somers. 

“No, Hicks Jarou wasn’t there.” 

“Then why the careful description of the personnel of your 
party ?” 

“I’m trying to tell my story in my usual artistic style—and 
if you interrupt many more times, I’ll put you out of the room.” 

“Good!” exclaimed Franklin Potter, “and if she comes in 
again, I’ll put her out. Go on with your story, Burton, I like 
your logging camp.” 

“Old Plymouth Rock was the most taciturn man I ever knew, 
and about the only thing we were sure of, concerning his per¬ 
sonal history, was that he seemed to be a devoted adherent of 
the Brahman religion.” 

“Brahman!” interrupted Beatrice. “Old Plymouth Rock a 
Brahman? Your plot begins to break.” 

“His plot is quite all right,” defended Mrs. Somers. “Plymouth 
Rock stands for all kinds of Oriental beliefs.” 

“Did Hicks Jarou turn Brahman,” queried Mrs. Willis. 

“I’m not prepared to answer that question,” replied Alfred. 
“If you’ll allow me to proceed you may be able to decide that 
matter for yourselves.” 

“Of course, you’ll proceed,” said Mrs. Somers; “we’d kill 
you if you didn’t.” 

“Go on, Alfred,” commanded Beatrice, “and bear as hard as 
you can on the occult pedal.” 


HICKS JAROU 


31 


“Old Plymouth Rock’s religion,” continued Alfred, “was of 
itself quite sufficient to arouse curiosity, in a camp like ours 
where reading was scarce, and where we seldom heard the news 
of the outside world before it was a month old. 

“How was it possible, we asked ourselves, for an Old Plymouth 
Rocker—one whose ancestors had been numbered among the 
Puritans—to be so devoted a Brahman? From certain meager 
crumbs of information that we had picked up at unexpected 
moments, and had carefully preserved and pieced together, we 
were quite sure that he had at one time been a member of a 
Baptist Church—perhaps a deacon, although we could not agree 
as to that. We were, however, unanimous in the belief that 
he had not been a Brahman longer than five years, and that he 
had never wanted to be one, and would much prefer to be a 
Baptist. What, then, had brought about so great a change in 
our melancholy companion’s religious beliefs?” 

“But why should you have cared ?” asked Mrs. Somers. 

“Pay no attention to her,” urged Beatrice. “She has no more 
imagination than a pussy cat.” 

“She calls me a cat,” wailed Mrs. Somers. 

“Stop calling names,” order Burton, “and listen to my story. 
No one, unless he has spent an entire winter in a logging camp 
where mental diversions are of the crudest, can form any idea 
of the amount of interest this question afforded us, or of the 
eagerness with which we picked up and discussed any half- 
formed sentence which, simply because it was left unfinished, 
we hoped might prove a clue to our cherished mystery.” 

“I’ll bet a box of gloves that I know the answer,“ interrupted 
Mrs. Somers. “Hicks Jarou was his teacher.” 

Mrs. Willis pointed a significant finger toward the door, and 
Mrs. Somers covered her saucy lips with a tiny lace hand¬ 
kerchief. 

“One evening,” continued Burton, “we were sitting around 
a glowing campfire, swapping yarns, when Old Plymouth Rock 
suddenly learned forward, holding up a skinny hand to attract 


32 


HICKS JAROU 


our attention. ‘Have any of you ever seen Hicks Jarou?* he 
asked, and added quickly, ‘but, of course, you haven’t, or you’d 
all be crazy, same as me!’ ” 

“Well!” exclaimed Mrs. Somers, “I’ll be damned.” 

“Your tone expresses what we felt very well indeed,” smiled 
Burton. “We were too astonished to know what to say; but 
Old Plymouth Rock did not seem to be noticing us at all. ‘I 
first saw Hicks Jarou,’ he continued, ‘in Boston where he was 
giving a talk in his laboratory to some scientists. He was talk¬ 
ing about biology. I was interested in biology in those days, 
and Hicks Jarou knew more than anyone else about it.’ 

“Without doubt, I was the only other man in that camp 
who had ever heard the word, biology, but all the men were so 
under the spell cast by Old Plymouth Rock’s unaccustomed 
manner that they nodded as intelligently as if that had been 
the first word they had learned to speak. 

“ ‘Men,’ exclaimed Old Plymouth Rock, ‘listen; listen, I say. 
I want you to know that I’ve been in hell. Hicks Jarou sent 
me there. When that lecture was concluded the other men left; 
but I remained behind. Fool that I was. I wanted to talk with 
Hicks Jarou—ask him a few questions—questions that any man 
would ask—and he sent me down to hell!’ ” 

“Alfred Burton, you are making that story out of whole 
cloth,” protested Mrs. Willis. 

“No, honestly, Norma! I’m telling it exactly as it occurred. 
I don’t mean to say that Hicks Jarou did send the poor fellow to 
hell—but Old Plymouth Rock thought he did.” 

“But you are telling a story about a man who is soon to be 
a neighbor. It isn’t fair, is it, to prejudice us against him, 
before he comes?” 

“Don’t let yourself be prejudiced,” suggested Franklin Potter. 
“I’ve heard queer stories about Hicks Jarou—but I don’t be¬ 
lieve they are true.” 

“Where there is much smoke,” said Beatrice, “one may expect 
to find a little fire.” 


HICKS JAROU 


33 


“Go on, Alfred,” urged Mrs. Somers. “Make it real spooky. 
Old Plymouth Rock had been sent to hell—” 

“At least he said so,” continued Burton. “He made the chills 
chase down our spines, because he looked as if he believed what 
he was saying. The fire began to burn low, and Ireland fur¬ 
tively touched the main log with his boot, but eight scowling 
brows warned him to desist. We felt that there must be no 
interruption, and so the shadows gathered more closely about 
us, and only the somber, white face of Old Plymouth Rock was 
clearly outlined. ‘You devils,’ he exclaimed, quite unexpectedly, 
‘why didn’t you warn me? Some of you did know Hicks Jarou. 
Some of you knew what he could do to a fellow. I’ll find out 
which one knew and failed to warn me—and then I’ll kill him. 
I have a right to kill the man who failed to warn me against 
Hicks Jarou.’ At this moment Ireland gave the main log an 
accurate kick that placed it just where it was most needed, and, 
to our relief, the fire sprang into new life. Old Plymouth Rock 
jumped to his feet, allowing a detached burning branch to fall 
into the place he had occupied, and stood before us looking un¬ 
usually tall in the fitful firelight. ‘I’ve got to tell it tonight,’ 
he shouted, ‘because I’ll never have another chance. You’ve 
got to know what you allowed that fiend to do to me. When 
I went to Hicks Jarou’s rooms, I belonged to the Baptist church, 
and I had no fear that the devil would ever get me. Hicks Jarou 
cast a spell over me—don’t ask me what he did—I don’t know— 
but he made my soul leave my body. I went into a strange land. 
I was alone. A voice told me that is the way it would be when I 
died—alone and lonely—and then I entered upon a long series 
of experiences so full of misery that human tongue can never 
find words to describe them. Men, I’d give this world and the 
next to forget them, but they haunt me day and night— 
they haunt me day and night. Every fear I had ever known— 
every fear that I had ever entertained for even one moment now 
became living reality, living reality, mind you—and all my life 
I have been full of fears! But I never really expected them to 


34 


HICKS JAROU 


be fulfilled—it seemed easier, somehow, to look on the dark 
side of life, and I followed in the line of least resistance. 

I suffered the agonies of cancer, and died; I came to life only 
to be murdered. I died of consumption, leprosy, hydrophobia— 
every disease of which I had ever known fear. I was hung, 
I was torn apart by savages, I was buried alive. I was bank¬ 
rupt and penniless. I saw my family slowly dying of star¬ 
vation. My mother was cut to pieces before my eyes; my sons 
were killed by wild beasts—and each of these experiences 
caused me more cruel suffering than I had ever imagined in 
my most melancholy days, and I’ve suffered like that ever since. 
I’ve suffered like that ever since. And now, now you fiends, 
now some one has got to pay for it/ As he said this, he 
caught a burning brand from the fire and made straight for 
me—” 

“Alfred Burton, have you no pity?” the story had been so 
frightfully realistic that most of the ladies were really unnerved, 
and all were pale. 

“Don’t you want to hear any more ?” 

“No,” replied Franklin Potter, sharply. “We’ve had enough.” 

“I haven’t,” said Beatrice. “How long can you keep it up, 
Alfred?” 

“Don’t know. Shall I proceed?” 

“Yes, yes, do,” cried Mrs. Somers. “You’re doing yourself 
proud, old scout.” 

“I’m not going to tell of the struggle we had to subdue the 
poor fellow,” continued Burton, quietly. “We had only suc¬ 
ceeded in getting the burning branch away from him when, 
‘Helloa there,’ came a voice through the darkness, ‘is this Alf. 
Burton’s camp?’ Before I could reply there came a sharp 
flash from a pistol, with a report that brought my heart into 
my mouth. Old Plymouth Rock had shot himself, and before 
we could reach him, he had fallen heavily to the ground.” 

“ ‘He is the man we wanted,’ said the stranger, dismounting 
from his horse beside the slowly stiffening form of our com- 


HICKS JAROU 


35 


panion, ‘and the worst ride I ever took has been in vain. He 
must have recognized my voice. I ought not to have called 
out, for I knew he was here/ It seems that Old Plymouth 
Rock had escaped from an asylum for the insane just before 
joining our crew, and for three months our lives had been in 
danger, for he had formed a habit of killing men who, he be¬ 
lieved, had introduced him to Hicks Jarou.” 

“What a horrid story!” exclaimed Mrs. Willis. “Do you 
believe he ever saw Mr. Jarou ?” 

“My informant from the asylum said he had worked in Jarou’s 
laboratory for a time.” 

“Well, that doesn’t prove anything against Jarou,” defended 
Franklin Potter. 

“Not a thing.” 

“Why did you tell that story,” demanded Mrs. Willis, ac¬ 
cusingly. 

“Weren’t you all anxious to hear something thrilling about 
our new neighbor? Haven’t I done my best to gratify you?” 

“I knew you were making it up, all the time,” replied Mrs. 
Willis. “Don’t you believe a word of that outrageous story,” 
she added, turning to her other guests. “If the man who is 
coming to Royalton is the Hicks Jarou I once knew, you will 
find him a cultured gentleman whom you will enjoy meeting.” 

“And you will invite him here, and give us all an opportunity 
to meet him?” inquired Mrs. Somers. 

“I shall invite him—yes—but he may not care to come.” 

“When I meet him,” said Mrs. Somers, “I shall tell him 
just what Alf. Burton tried to do to him.” 

“What did I try to do to him?” 

“You tried to prejudice us against him.” 

“By telling a wonderfully romantic yarn about him? Think 
I’d have done that—to create prejudice in the mind of a 
woman ?” 


36 


HICKS JAROU 


“It wouldn’t have worked, would it?” said Beatrice. “It 
had the opposite effect on me. I’m positively seething with 
excitement.” 

“Don’t think he’ll send you to Heaven as he sent that poor 
fellow to hell,” warned Mrs Somers. “Just understand—all 
of you—that I spoke first! I am to be the recipient of any little 
attentions that Mr. Hicks Jarou may be disposed to offer.” 


CHAPTER III 


“Thank Heaven, that's over," sighed Mrs. Willis, as the 
last guest left her home. 

“It wasn’t as bad as I had feared it would be," replied Beatrice, 
cheerfully. 

“How did you get on with Franklin?" 

“All right. I wasn’t particularly nice; neither was I nasty. 
He’ll come again." 

“Yes; I think he will. However, Beatrice, you need make 
no promise for a day or two." 

“No? Why, I thought it was imperative. You told me the 
mortgage on our home amounted to twenty-five thousand dollars 
—and was due in a fortnight!” 

“Yes. And how quickly a fortnight passes—sometimes." 

“Mother, why didn’t you tell me all this before?” 

“I hoped you need never know. Remember, dear, you were 
engaged to be married to Lord—to Percy—and we believed—’’ 

“Yes, mother; can’t we let that pass?" 

“I think you should understand that on the strength of that 
engagement I had every hope of getting the mortgage renewed. 
I am quite sure it could have been managed." 

“I understand. And now you are hoping Franklin Potter 
can help us out." 

“He seems to have plenty of money—and he is crazy about 
you. Anyone can see that." 

“Alfred Burton believes he is a remittance man." 

“He does! When did Alfred tell you that ?" 

“This afternoon. It sounds reasonable. Franklin is English, 
and sometimes English families do get rid of undesirable sons 
in the way Alfred suggests.” 


37 


38 


HICKS JAROU 


“But I can’t see why anyone should consider Franklin un¬ 
desirable—and I don’t believe Alfred has any grounds for his 
assertion.” 

“Alfred says he has been told that Franklin makes up a 
statement of account every month and sends it away, and 
every month he receives a draft on a New York bank.” 

“But I don’t believe he’d have to meet his expenses in any 
such way. Why, the fees he gets for his genealogical work 
must be simply enormous—enough to more than cover his 
expenses. You know Franklin is recognized as an expert 
along that line.” 

“Especially since he did what he did to Percy.” 

“Yes. That alone has made him a power in Royalton. 
We’ll never need to worry about being bamboozled as Percy 
Southdown bamboozled us. In fact, you’ll see that from this 
time on, no foreign aristocrat will be received in Royalton 
until Franklin Potter says so.” 

“I wonder where he gets all his information about people.” 
mused Beatrice. 

“I believe he must know a great many titled people quite 
intimately,” replied her mother. “Now that it has been sug¬ 
gested, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he were himself a 
younger son of some powerful house. Of course, if that could 
be proved—and his remittances were large enough—one might 
take chances on an unexpected future inheritance. I’ve read 
of more than one remittance man who was called home to be¬ 
come lord of the manor.” 

“Well, is it understood that we are to take chances?” 

“Oh, my little girl, I know you hate the very idea!” 

“Never mind me, Mumsey. You did what you did with your 
money just to give me a good time—and no other girl has had 
a happier girlhood. And it really doesn’t matter so much whom 
I marry; I fancy one man is pretty much like another man— 
and they are all rather disgusting.” 

“Don’t be cynical, dear.” 


HICKS JAROU 


39 


“Fm not. I had hoped I shouldn’t have to marry until— 
until I’d forgotten what Percy made me believe—but never 
mind; even if I’m married I’ll manage to forget the real life 
in the more satisfactory life of the student. Whatever happens, 
I’m going to study about things that interest me.” 

“Not a bad idea,” replied the mother, who evidently had 
not been paying very strict attention to what her daughter was 
saying. “Anyhow,” she added quite irrelevantly, “you’d better 
not give Franklin an answer for a day or two—in case he 
should propose.” 

“Oh, I don’t know about that. If I have a duty to perform 
I always like to get it over with as soon as possible.” 

“Better wait a day or two,” repeated Mrs. Willis. “I’ve 
just had a new thought. Perhaps you won’t have to do it 
after all.” 

Beatrice was informed by the maid that the car was at 
the door, and that she was due at her dressmakers. Mrs. 
Willis was left alone with her thoughts. 

“I wish I could know what he is like today,” she murmured, 
and the thought brought before her a mental photograph of 
Hicks Jarou as he had looked when she met him in London 
thirty years ago. 

“He was very much interested in me,” was her next thought, 
“and he has never married. Perhaps he has not liked anyone 
else as well. I believe I’ll write him. Yes, that is the thing to 
do. I’ll ignore what he said when we parted and assume that 
we are to be good friends. He couldn’t hold a grulge all these 
years. He’ll see that Beatrice is like me.” 

Mrs. Willis acted pn the impulse. She ran out to the mail 
box and posted the letter, herself, and she made haste so as to 
have it done beyond recall before Beatrice should return. 
She had really meant to do this from the moment she had 
heard that Hicks Jarou was coming to live in Royalton, and 
that he was wealthy and unmarried. She had managed to get 
his address from Franklin Potter without appearing to be 


40 


HICKS JAROU 


particularly interested, and she had rejoiced inwardly when she 
had learned that he was in New York, and she could hope for 
an early reply to her letter. 

It came promptly. There was a bank draft for twenty-five 
thousand dollars and a short curt little note of two sentences 
which told her that he was glad to be able to accomodate her, 
and that they would arrange details as to interest and date of 
payment when he reached Royalton. Not another word. It 
did not begin with her name, or end with his. Just two sentences ! 

A spasm of fear clutched the heart of Norma Willis when 
she saw that draft. Her first impulse was to return it— but 
the mortgage came due so very soon. It would feel so good 
to be free from worry for even a few days. Of course, she 
would owe Hicks Jarou—he might insist upon taking a mortgage 
on her home—he might foreclose—but that couldn’t happen 
for a little while. He might become interested in Beatrice! He 
might prove to be very desirable! One should not believe silly 
stories told about one’s friends by men like Alfred Burton. 
Hicks Jarou was a scientist, a very great biologist, and scientists 
were always criticized by those whose brains were too feeble 
to grasp scientific facts. She did not pretend to know much 
about biology; but she was quite sure it was something one 
need not be ashamed to know about, and that biologists couldn’t 
send anyone to hell, not really, no matter how much they’d 
like to do it. It would be worth a great deal to be able to 
walk into a certain office, where one was quite sure to be met 
with a frown, and put down one’s personal check for twenty- 
five thousand dollars, just as a hateful lawyer was making 
ready to inform one of his client’s instructions concerning one’s 
beautiful home! 

Mrs. Willis returned to her home a few days later, looking 
years younger than she had in a long time. 

“Well, dear,” she said, “we’ll be able to entertain our friends 
yet a little longer. We can still look the world in the face.” 

“You don’t mean it! What has happened?” 


HICKS JAROU 


41 


“I saw the man who holds the mortgage. He is in no hurry 
to foreclose.” Why didn’t she tell her daughter that the mort¬ 
gage had been paid? 

“But he’ll foreclose sooner or later, won’t he?” 

“Not if some one else assumes control here. Let’s not cross 
that bridge before we come to it.” 

A little later, she said, quite casually, “I wonder when Mr. 
Jarou is expected ? We must be the first to invite him—for old 
acquaintance’ sake, you know, and I want you to be nice to him.” 

In a second this thought flashed through the girl’s mind, 
“Mother wanjs me to marry Hicks Jarou. I actually believe 
she would let me marry that cruel old hypnotist—or whatever 
he is—who makes people go crazy.” 

“Mother,” she asked, suddenly, “were you and father very 
much in love when you married?” 

“Your father was very much in love with me. We got on 
exceedingly well together.” 

“Was father wealthy?” 

“When we were married—yes. But he made foolish invest¬ 
ments—and he failed to make me secure, as he should have 
done.” 

There was a bitterness in the mother’s voice that was un¬ 
pleasant. It warned Beatrice to change the subject, which she 
did. The evening passed pleasantly enough, and Mrs. Willis 
did not guess the trend of her daughter’s thought. 

“Why doesn’t mother marry him, herself? She didn’t care 
much about father—yet they got on very well together. She 
and Hicks Jarou must be nearly the same age, and if he’s 
wealthy and could give her everything she wants! I believe 
she’d like that. Maybe I could help it along. Then I could 
take up stenography, and be independent.” 

Then Beatrice tried to realize what life had meant to her 
mother all through the years while she was at school and 
care-free. 


42 


HICKS JAROU 


“Poor mother!” she thought. “It hasn’t been much fun 
bringing me up. After all, why should she marry again if she 
doesn’t want to? It is my business to look after her, now. 
But if they happened to like each other — and I could be 
free to work—” 

Meanwhile, the curious members of Royalton’s smart set 
were busily, but secretly, at work trying to learn something 
about the man who was soon coming to live among them, and 
although their efforts were not altogether succe^sfhl, they 
had learned enough to understand that one who has never heard 
of Hicks Jarou had better think twice before admitting it. 
He was too important to be ignored, and if one didn’t happen 
to understand what made him important, why, just better keep 
still and wait for a cue. 

If you are a comfortable, rather narrowminded housewife, 
giving most of your time to your home and family, and the 
remainder to your church, you will not be expected to have 
heard of this man, Jarou. That’s all right, too. You are 
just as well off, and no one will raise an astonished eyebrow 
when you confess your ignorance. But if you are interested 
in the startling discoveries of today, and wish to get a line 
on what is likely to happen any time within the next ten years, 
then you cannot ignore the investigations of this scientist, 
oven though they may seem to you to have been instigated by 
the devil. 

Royalton is not to be criticized for undue curiosity. There 
is no one who has ever heard of Hicks Jarou who would not 
like to know more about him. There are not many among the 
cautious class who would care to know him personally. The 
majority would prefer to get their information second hand. 
They’d think it safer. The Mother Eves of the land would find 
it “terribly interesting” to listen to stories of this singular 
man, and perhaps shudder a little, quite comfortably—as a 
child does when listening to ghost stories,—but if they met 
him face to face, after listening to stories told by those who 


HICKS JAROU 


43 


professed to know all about him, or who, like Alfred Burton, 
had only heard of him, their first thought would be—“what 
awful thing will he do to me ?” 

One who sought information from those who have heard a 
great deal about Hicks Jarou,—good people who believe they 
are telling the truth—would soon become possessed of the 
following items—all fairly well vouched for as facts,—and 
all misleading: 

He has never been young. 

He will never grow old. 

He has lived on this earth for a thousand years. 

He discards a body when it begins to show signs of wear, and 
gets another. How ? Nobody knows. 

He has discovered how to mend parts of his body, as they 
wear out, so that it will last indefinitely. 

He was never born like other people. 

He couldn’t die if he wanted to. 

He owns an island which boasts a tiny lake with marvelous 
rejuvenating powers. 

He can make gold, and precious stones. 

He can do what he pleases with any human being under the 
sun. 

He can read your mind, and always know what you are 
thinking. 

And so on, ad infinitum. 

How do such stories get started? No one would dream of 
weaving them about the name and personality of the placid 
housewife who has never heard of Hicks Jarou. Nor about 
one of our presidents. Edison? Ford? Burns? Well, perhaps. 

Allow me to quote from one who knows: Hicks Jarou had 
parents. He was born into this world like any other baby. 
He was an extraordinarily beautiful child, and it was soon 
discovered that he was different in that he possessed certain 
characteristics not well understood by average people, and so 
not mentioned as natural gifts. There are natural gifts that 


44 


HICKS JAROU 


one would not accept as a gift, if one could help it. Who wants 
to be very different from the common herd? Certainly the 
little boy—the little, lonely, misunderstood Hicks Jarou—would 
not have been, himself, if he could have had anything to say 
about it. 

“One Who Knows” is willing to swear to this: 

Mary Hicks, an ardent churchwoman of the middle years of 
the nineteenth century, married Richard Jarou, an eminent 
material scientist—if the phrase may be allowed—whose days 
had been spent in a tireless effort to discover new biological 
truths. The wedding took place in 1848. 

Hicks Jarou was the only child of this strangely mated 
pair—one of whom did not believe in the existence of matter, 
while the other believed in nothing else. Hicks was born in 
1850. 

When but three years of age the child, Hicks, could name all 
of the bones in the human body. At the age of five he had 
discovered a ganglion of nerve cells which had been overlooked 
by all other students of anatomy. At ten he carved a perfect 
human skeleton from a stick of stove wood. At eighteen he 
began the long series of experiments that were destined to prove 
the possibility of combining well known chemical compounds 
to form a human body so perfect that it could not be detected 
as an imitation, but passed current as the genuine article. 

At the time we make acquaintance with Hicks Jarou, it 
had been said of him that he could mix protoplasm as skilfully 
as the housewife mixes bread; that he had an intimate acquain¬ 
tance with the atomic world; that he understood cell develop¬ 
ment so well as to be able to change the nature of cells repro¬ 
ducing by spontaneous duplication, and compel them to adopt, 
instead, the process known as endogenous nucleal fission! It 
would seem that a scientist who had gone as far as that, had the 
whole scheme of creation within his grasp! 

For the wonderful skill in biological research with which 
he had been endowed, Hicks Jarou gave his father full credit, 


HICKS JAROU 


45 


but he realized it was to his pious mother that he owed his 
great wealth. It was she who had taught him that there was 
a never-ending supply for those who could successfully connect 
themselves with it, and his inventive mind quickly found the 
key to that connection. Hicks Jarou was indeed fabulously 
wealthy. In one thing only did his life seem barren and that 
was love. 

Hicks Jarou was ten years old when his father’s spirit left 
its casement. Six weeks later his mother joined her husband. 
No one cared for the child thus left alone, enough to take him 
into their home. He had no relatives. He was left in care of 
the Trust Company who had for some years administered his 
father’s wealth. The Trust Company sent him to an excellent 
school for boys, where he was promptly consigned to a class 
by himself by all the ordinary little boys who did not care for a 
comrade who knew so much more than they did. 

It was during the long hours when the other boys refused 
to play with him that he amused himself by fashioning the 
perfect human skeleton from the stick of stove wood. He 
thought it the most beautiful toy any boy had ever made. He 
showed it to his schoolmates, hoping it might win their esteem. 
If only one of them would like it, and want to chum with the 
boy who carved it! Life must seem wonderful to a boy who 
had a chum. But no; they were interested only for a moment. 
They did not see that the toy was well made. They did not 
care. If it had been some sort of workable toy, any common 
thing that the average little boy could have understood—Hicks 
might have won a friend; but who cared for a wooden skeleton! 

The boys raced away to their play. Poor little Hicks Jarou 
gazed after them with tear-filled eyes. What was the trouble ? 
Why did the boys run away from him? Why didn’t they let 
him play with them? He studied the wooden skeleton cur¬ 
iously. Why didn’t the boys like it? Wasn’t it well done? 
Could he have done better? Perhaps. However, he liked it 
very much, just as it was — only it wasn’t companionable. 


46 


HICKS JAROU 


He was so very lonely! He wished he could find some one 
to whom he could give his wooden skeleton—some one who 
would see how very fine it was, and like him because he had 
made it. 

After this incident, the little lad was left to himself still 
more sedulously, for such is the unstudied cruelty of children. 
There was nothing he could do by way of amusement, so far 
as he knew, except to dissect bugs and birds and various small 
animals, with a view to studying the arrangement of their 
internal economy, and trying to learn the constituents of the 
various organs. 

Our hero learned so readily that he seemed fairly to gallop 
through the various preparatory schools to which the officials 
of his perplexed guardian, The Trust Company, sent him, and 
he was ready for college long before any college wished to 
receive him. But he was not denied admittance. There was 
no good reason why he should not be received, except that he 
was much younger than the other students,—and that was not 
deemed sufficient. 

Hicks looked forward to college life with hope and enthusiasm. 
Men in college couldn’t possibly be heartless and thoughtless as 
small boys were apt to be. In college, he would find a true friend 
—a jolly boy who would understand him, and perhaps be in¬ 
terested in the practical application of biological facts. 

He entered college and almost immediately he was accorded 
that curious aloofness that youth deals out to those who are not 
like themselves. The professors saw, but could not help the 
situation. A boy whose dearest possessions consisted of several 
glass jars, in each of which reposed a hand-made heart covered 
by some mysterious liquid,—was it hand-made? The boy 
let it be so understood—but—every heart was actually beating! 
It was uncanny, to say the least. How could such a boy hope 
to be happy in the average college! 

Hicks Jarou ran away from college. He disappeared. He 
was not heard from for years. Meanwhile, his fortune remained 


HICKS JAROU 


47 


with the Trust Company, where it increased safely and steadily, 
and the Trust Company’s advertisements for one Hicks Jarou 
were published abroad quite in vain, for they failed to bring 
him back, although rumors concerning him had occasionally 
drifted in. One day, many years later, he unexpectedly wrote 
the Trust Company that he would soon call for an accounting. 
It had not been difficult for him to prove his identity. The 
fact that he had so often been heard of in various parts of 
the world was proof that he still lived, even though he had 
always disappeared before his old friends could communicate 
with him. They had tried, in a way, but perhaps not as effect¬ 
ively as they might have done had not the stories told of him 
been so varied and so odd—perhaps repellant is the better 
word—that the Trust Company hesitated about pushing their 
investigations too far. They finally decided to await his 
commands, which was proof of their wisdom, for Hicks Jarou 
was irritated when questioned about his affairs. They were 
in charge of his fortune, and he trusted them. He did not 
need the money they were investing for him because he was 
making a still greater fortune. When he had accomplished 
certain things—made a certain stupendous day dream come 
true— established himself as the greatest biologist the world 
had ever known—then he would return to those sections of the 
world where the little boy, Hicks, had been made to suffer. 


CHAPTER IV. 


Very quietly—without formal announcement of his intended 
arrival, Hicks Jarou had taken possession of his palatial new 
home. He arrived at night, unexpectedly, and they who chanced 
to see him alight from the train had no idea that the stranger 
was in any way illustrious; but they spoke of his distinguished 
appearance. 

Hicks Jarou’s presence did not become known to Royalton 
for some time after his arrival, for he had actually been living 
in his own home when Percy Southdown had shot himself, 
although it happened that he was at his New York residence 
when Mrs. Willis’ letter had arrived, and his reply had been 
sent from there. 

The old Carrington place was being transformed from a 
very large and very ordinary looking modern residence into a 
sort of palace that resembled the celebrated Golden Temple of 
India. It had not been difficult to thus transform it, and 
it looked at home in its surroundings. A small artificial lake 
had been put in on the lawn, the waters of which lapped the 
foundations of the house. This, of course, was a reproduction 
of the Sacred Tank before the Golden Temple, but the citizens 
of Royalton did not know that. To enter the house, one must 
reach it from a side street. The place appealed to the imagina¬ 
tion of even the most prosaic. When any Royalton citizen 
ventured to compliment the owner on his work of rehabilitation, 
he gravely informed them that the house was now absolutely 
modem—as if that were all that mattered in this prosaic world. 
It certainly was modern in that the very day when The Royalton 
Star carried the belated announcement of Hicks Jarou’s arrival, 
it cast off its air of mystery and somnolence and became alive 


48 


HICKS JAROU 


49 


with the bustle and excitement of getting settled, just as any 
other modern home would submit itself to ordinary, every-day- 
citizen ownership. 

It transpired that Mr. Jarou had brought most of his servants 
with him. They were fine looking people, of rather dusky 
coloring, and it appeared that none of them could speak English. 
The guesses as to their nationality were many and varied. Mr. 
Jarou could have told them that they were Sikhs—a separate 
sect of Hindus, who were with him for experience and educa¬ 
tion. They were dissenters from the practices of the older 
Hindu faith, and they believed that he, Jarou, would eventually 
take them to an island in the South Seas that he had purchased 
for that purpose, where they could establish themselves and 
gather their most dearly beloved friends about them. They 
came of superior stock, had a keen sense of dignity and honor, 
and realized the compliment paid them by their master when 
he selected them for the special training that the public officers 
of their island home should have. 

Although Hicks Jarou’s household showed very plainly that 
its members did not care to have communion with any of their 
neighbors, they soon discovered that in this new and very demo¬ 
cratic country it was quite impossible to get settled without 
admitting an occasional outsider — some very dreadful per¬ 
sonage called a mechanic—who could teach them how to care 
for the puzzling fixtures that were designated under the head of 
modern conveniences. And it was not long before these uncouth 
intruders upon the privacy of the Hicks Jarou home were busily 
circulating a very strange story. 

They declared that this man, Jarou, had one fellow with 
him who was a mighty curious specimen! He was tall and dark 
and thin and wiry, and all the servants obeyed him quickly 
when he spoke. He wore a black silk skull cap pulled down 
over his eyebrows—and when it was pulled down he wasn’t a 
bad looking fellow at all. But sometimes it got awry—some¬ 
times it got pushed half way up his forehead, and then he 


50 


HICKS JAROU 


hastily pulled it into place. But on one never-to-be-forgotten 
occasion he had not been able to pull it in place so quickly that 
no one saw—in fact, three of their number swore they had seen 
—what no one could really believe! It was simply awful! And 
then remembering the poor negro, Wash, the grave digger, and 
how cruelly his story had been ridiculed not so very long ago, 
they told the remainder of their story in a whisper, and only 
to friends whom they considered especially trustworthy. It 
was to the effect that this tall, dark thin man who bossed the 
other servants had three eyes! Yes, sir, three eyes. The third 
was concealed under his skull cap—when the cap was not awry. 

And so it happened that among the work people of Royalton, 
Runjeet Singh became known as Three Eyes, except when 
spoken to, or when referred to in the presence of Hicks Jarou, 
but naturally the social set knew nothing about that for quite 
some time. 

For many centuries, occultists have known of the third eye, 
which was, in olden times, quite an accepted part of the human 
anatomy, and was known to designate those who had been born 
with special gifts—such as second sight, or the power of 
divination. This eye is located just below the center of the 
forehead, and above the bridge of the nose. Although it was 
once as much in evidence in these gifted human beings as are 
the two eyes with which we are familiar, there is little doubt 
that, as divination gradually became unpopular, this eye was not 
put to the use for which it had been intended and so slowly but 
surely eliminated itself—just as other parts of the human 
frame have done when left unused. Hicks Jarou, however, had 
believed this third eye might be cultivated and again brought 
to the surface of the face. The idea fascinated him. Not that 
he thought a third eye any improvement, but he had the scien¬ 
tist’s desire to play with nature. And so when he chanced to 
save the life of a new born babe, whose un-wed mother had 
determined must be destroyed, he decided to keep the baby for 
experiment. 


HICKS JAROU 


51 


The experiment was successful from the experimenter’s 
point of view, but it resulted in untold embarrassment to the 
victim, for his sensitiveness upon the point of his optical 
singularity made him shy of his fellow man, and he never 
appeared in public if he could help it. 

Hicks Jarou did not abandon the poor persecuted child, but 
gave him a home and taught him all he cared to learn. Runjeet 
Singh developed many strange powers and became a learned 
occultist, but still remained with Jarou as a sort of upper servant. 
He had an original way of obtaining solitude by solemnly offer¬ 
ing anyone, who wearied him, the great privilege of shaking 
hands with the devil, and so it happened that many a scoffer who 
strenuously declared his unbelief in a personal devil would im¬ 
mediately find a good reason for a prompt departure. Few 
of us really believe in a personal devil—Oh, no!—but just the 
same if Runjeet Singh had made his offer to us, we would 
have decided to take no chances. One might know beyond 
all doubt that Three Eyes could not possibly produce the devil 
for us to shake hands with, yet there was always the chance that 
he might. One could not be sure as to the extent of the powers 
of such a man, and always his offer was disquieting because it 
was made with an air of confidence that could not be ignored. 
But all this gossip was kept pretty closely among a chosen few 
of Royalton’s working class — self-respecting people who 
objected to ridicule, yet who, like poor Wash, knew that they 
saw “jes zactly what they said they seen.” 

It was a long time before the leisure class of Royalton learned 
of the part Hicks Jarou had played in Runjeet Singh’s tragedy. 
But he had not been there long before he began receiving com¬ 
mendation for his generosity in taking the poor boy into his 
home and educating him, and then giving him suitable employ¬ 
ment. Mrs. Willis was one of the most enthusiastic, and her 
emphatic expressions of approval were joked about among her 
friends, who declared that Mr. Jarou did not look like one who 


52 


HICKS JAROU 


put himself out to do good to humanity, and if she saw him as a 
philanthropist, it must be because she was more deeply interested 
in him than she had allowed them to suppose. 

As soon after his arrival as she could, without danger of 
exciting comment, Mrs. Willis sent Hicks Jarou a note of in¬ 
vitation to her next afternoon tea. 

“Please come early,” she wrote, “that we may have an oppor¬ 
tunity to renew our friendship of—let’s not say how many years 
ago—before the other guests begin to arrive.” 

Hicks Jarou came early. He made a striking figure as he 
stood in the doorway for a moment before entering the room. 
One who observed comprehensively would have noticed that 
he was not much above medium height, that his hands and feet 
were rather too small, and his head a little too large for his 
body; but the ordinary person would have seen only that he 
had large, dark, melancholy eyes, with the steadfast gaze of the 
scientific observer, and a shock of beautiful white curly hair, 
that softened a rather harsh expression produced by lips too 
firmly closed. The physiognomist would have made mental 
note something as follows: “Nose a little too well rounded at 
the side, showing an excess of the faculty known as construc¬ 
tiveness, which sometimes leads to ruthless research and some¬ 
times to chimerical invention.” Had he known of the gossip 
concerning the man he would have quickly decided that Hicks 
was just the type of scientist who would have tried to produce 
a third eye in a helpless baby’s face. 

Mrs. Willis had been dreading this first meeting, not so much 
because she had borrowed twenty-five thousand dollars of him, 
as because she had an uncomfortable recollection of their last 
meeting, and she feared he might not have entirely forgotten it. 

She was the first and only girl to whom the boy Hicks 
had paid attention. They had met in London. He was a lonely 
boy who had never been able to make friends. He was shy, but 
she had made him feel at ease. She chanced to be without an 
escort, and she allowed him to take her to all the expensive 


HICKS JAROU 


53 


places. She played with him quite heartlessly, led him on until 
he overcame his shyness sufficiently to propose marriage, and 
then she laughed at him. 

“You really didn’t imagine I would marry you,” she had 
said, flippantly; “you knew we were just flirting.” 

“No,” he had replied with dangerous calm, “I did not know 
that. Why am I not fit to marry?” 

“Because you are not human. You are a walking dictionary. 
You are a personified collection of biological facts. You are as 
companionable as a book on Chinese philosophy.” 

“I thank you,” he had said gravely, “until you are better paid. 
Please remember that some day you will be better paid.” 

Then he had looked at her steadily for what had seemed to 
her like hours—and a red fire had formed in his great, black 
eyes—had flamed up, receded, smouldered, flamed up again. 
Then he was gone without another word—not so much as a 
nod by way of farewell. He was gone, and she was left with 
a deathless memory of that curious light in his eyes, flaming up, 
receding, smouldering, springing to life again. It was uncanny. 
He had left her trembling with fear—a fear that reason told 
her was groundless. Of course, he would not do anything to 
harm her. Why should he ? How could he ? A girl had a right 
to decide against a lover—and one must accept a man’s attentions 
in order to decide at all. But she now wished she had not been 
quite so outspoken. She could have prevented that proposal 
had she tried. She had known all along that she did not care 
for him. She might have shown herself more considerate. She 
had often wished she had never met him—hoped she would 
never meet him again—prayed to forget the strange red flame 
that had danced in his somber black eyes. 

The scene recurred to her in a flash as she advanced to 
welcome him to her home, and her hand trembled as she extended 
it, because like a flash the red flame had sprung into his eyes 
when he looked at her, and then he had quickly looked away. 


54 


HICKS JAROU 


He appeared not to see her extended hand. He bowed very low, 
and with wonderful grace. 

“This is a beautiful room, Mrs. Willis,” he said, and his 
voice betrayed the appreciation of a trained artist. 

“We like it,” replied Mrs. Willis, quite simply. “My husband 
and I worked hard for months to dress this house to suit us.” 

“This room is quite perfect.” 

“Yet I have friends who pronounce it dingy—think it needs 
re-decorating—” 

“Don’t allow it to be touched. I prefer it as it is. Are all 
the other rooms as exquisite?” 

“They are all different. Each has its own individuality. 
When my guests are gone, I will show you over the house, if 
you wish.” 

“I am here to see it.” 

What had become of the opening conversation she had so 
carefully rehearsed! Norma Willis was so bewildered that her 
heart was not acting normally. It fluttered so that it made 
her feel dizzy. She had meant to open with a graceful allusion 
to friendships of other days, to tell him how glad she was to see 
him again, to impress him with the fact that she was a queenly 
hostess and he was an honored guest, and in the twinkling of 
an eye he had made her feel like a real-estate agent with a 
house that must be sold. 

Beatrice entered, all in white. Her dark gray eyes were 
wide with curiosity, and she studied the stranger with the 
unselfconscious gravity of a child as she slowly crossed the room. 

“My daughter Beatrice, Mr. Jarou.” 

“Ah!” he clasped her proffered hand in both of his. “You 
Jooked like a tall white lily out for a promenade, as you came 
{through that door,” he said with a smile. 

When Hicks Jarou smiled like that, which did not happen 
frequently, his face was transformed. He became attractive, 
almost god-like in appearance, and one wanted to say or do 
something to bring another such smile. As a rule, his smile 


HICKS JAROU 


55 


was sardonic and made one uncomfortable. Beatrice would 
never be able to see Hicks Jarou exactly as others saw him, 
because her first impression of him was irradiated and burned 
deep by his transforming smile. 

“I am so glad we are going to like each other, Mr. Jarou,” 
she said, impulsively. 

“So am I — if we are,” he replied. “I do not make friends 
readily,” he added. “I have been lonely all my life—and long 
ago I ceased hoping for a friend, and ceased believing in 
friendship.” 

“I’m going to show you how mistaken you have been.” 

“Perhaps,” was the doubtful reply, quickly followed by, 
“but I’m willing to be shown,” and another glimpse of the won¬ 
derful smile. 

Afterward, Beatrice wondered at the impulse that had led 
her to talk to this man as she might have talked to a youth of 
her own age—gaily, unaffectedly, as if she enjoyed it—as she 
really had. 

“He is not a bit as I had thought he would be,” she declared. 
“He is by far the handsomest man I have ever met, the most 
interesting, and the best mannered.” 

“I wish I could share your enthusiasm,” her mother replied. 
“I must confess he got on my nerves.” 

“You and he didn't seem to hit it off very well. I wondered 
about that. And why did you take him all over the house ?” 

“He wanted to see it. The living-room seemed to make a 
great impression—” 

“Nonsense. His own home must be much more beautiful.” 

“More expensive, perhaps—but not mellow in tone as ours 
is. It must look shiny—like copper-toed shoes.” 

“Was he impressed with ours,—as a whole?” 

“Seemed to be. Said he hoped I might live to enjoy it a 
great many years.” 

“I heard him say that. Don’t you think his eyes had a queer 
expression when he said so?” 


56 


HICKS JAROU 


“How do you mean—queer?” asked the mother, wondering 
if anyone else could see what was so horribly plain to her. 

“Why, when he said that, he looked right at you, and there 
seemed to be a flickering red light in his eyes. Didn’t you see it ?” 

“I noticed that his eyes are peculiar,” replied the mother 
evasively, and then sought to change the subject. “I think our 
afternoon was a success on the whole, don’t you?” 

“Indeed yes—the most entertaining in weeks. Mr. Jarou 
made himself very popular.” 

“Mrs. Somers provided the opportunity. What was that 
ridiculous story he was telling her ?” 

“Mrs. Somers asked him if he were so wonderfully well 
versed in occult science as he was said to be—such an imper¬ 
tinent question—” 

“Occult Science! Why he is a biologist.” 

“That is the reply he made Mrs. Somers. And she wouldn’t 
take a hint. ‘Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes!’ she said. 
‘I’ve been told that you are more occultist than anything else!’ ” 

“What did he say to that?” asked Mrs. Willis. 

“He looked at her with the oddest smile,” continued Beatrice 
—“as if she were an impertinent child whom he’d like to 
spank. ‘You’ve been told that?’ he asked, ‘well then, I’ll admit 
it, since I make it a rule not to quarrel with the gossips.’ ” 

“Something of a slap in the face, wasn’t it?” asked Mrs. 
Willis. 

“I should have considered it so, but Mrs. Somers didn’t 
seem to. She just laughed and said she wished she knew how 
much of the talk about him she was to believe.” 

“I wonder how she dared! Was he angry?” 

“He didn’t appear to be. He replied that of course he didn’t 
know exactly what the gossips were saying, but he would con¬ 
fess that he really could not enjoy a meal unless he ate it at 
midnight, by moonlight, and with nine times seven black cats 
seated around the table. And when the moon was in the first 
quarter his principal dish was rattlesnake chowder; when the 


HICKS JAROU 


57 


moon was full, he had roast monkey brought on with its hands 
crossed on its breast; but when the moon was in the last quarter, 
nothing suited him except a negro baby cooked on the spit.” 

“It was a horrid reply,” snapped Mrs. Willis. 

“Wasn’t it? But Mrs. Somers deserved it. She has been 
entirely too ready to report all she hears concerning him.” 

“I’m puzzling my mind about Franklin Potter,” said Mrs. 
Willis. “Before Mr. Jarou came to Royalton, he appeared to 
know a great deal about him; but this afternoon they met like 
strangers.” 

“I noticed that,” replied Beatrice, “and yet I’m sure they 
are not strangers.” 

“How can you be sure of that?” 

“There was nothing in Mr. Jarou’s manner, when you intro¬ 
duced them, to make me think so; but Franklin aroused my 
suspicions,—he looked so uncomfortable—and—I can’t quite 
define it—but almost as if he were afraid.” 

“Don’t overwork your imagination,” retorted Mrs. Willis. 
“Why should he—or anyone—be afraid of Mr. Jarou?” 

“He may have good reason to believe some of the creepy 
stories told about that fascinating gentleman.” 

“I thought you liked Mr. Jarou?” 

“I do. He is mysterious—and so—so detached! He is 
different from anyone else I’ve ever known. He makes your 
very correct afternoon teas seem quite snappy. He is worth 
cultivating, and my hat’s in the ring.” 

“Don’t, Beatrice! You are excited—overwrought. It makes 
you appear reckless and unrestrained.” 

“Why, mother, I thought I was pleasing you. I’ve been 
entertaining the idea that you would like me to marry the 
gentleman.” 

“Not except as a last resort,” replied the mother, with a 
groan. 

“But why not? They say he has untold millions—” 

“He is old enough to be your father.” 


58 


HICKS JAROU 


‘“All right. Make him my father. I wouldn’t object to a 
daddy as picturesque as he is. And I’m sure he’d give me any¬ 
thing I wanted. Go in and win, mother, and end your financial 
troubles.” 

“I’d prefer the debtor’s prison,” replied the mother passion¬ 
ately. “I don’t like Hicks Jarou. I hate him. I wish I hadn’t 
invited him here. I wish we need never meet him again.” 

“We need never invite him again, if that is the way you 
feel about him.” 

“He’ll come anyhow. He assured me he meant to come 
frequently, and he’ll come, believe me, no matter how I may 
feel about it! And I wouldn’t dare tell him I’d prefer his room 
to his company.” 

“I would—if I felt that way—but I don’t. I can’t understand 
why you dislike him so much. Personally, I’d be very sorry not 
to see more of him, but not here—if he gets on your nerves. 
But mother, I really think that you’ve allowed yourself to 
become a little hysterical—” 

“Hysterical? I’ve never been hysterical.” 

“But listen, you dear, anxious mother! Let me psychologize 
the situation. This is how it looks to me! You allowed your¬ 
self to dream a little dream, connecting your daughter and Mr. 
Jarou’s millions — and when you saw his white hair, and 
observed his masterful manners, and thought of your little girl 
married to him—why then the nice little dream became a night¬ 
mare. Isn’t that so?” 

“Perhaps,” replied the mother, evasively; then added passion¬ 
ately, “I wish he had not come to Royalton.” 

“You’ve been too anxious about me, mother. But don’t 
worry any more. Mr. Jarou is thinking of me as a little girl— 
the daughter of his old friend—I’m sure of that, Mumsey. 
Besides, dear, I just know that he once had hopes of winning 
you.” 

“Beatrice! How do you know it? What nonsense! Why 
do you say a thing like that ?” 


HICKS JAROU 


59 


“Because I’ve read that unrequited love sometimes turns to 
hate—and when he came into this room he looked at you as if 
he almost hated you. Yet he hadn’t seen you for years and 
years. Now there must be some reason for that, and what 
other reason could there be ?” 

“You are too absurd. I’ll not listen to such nonsense. I am 
going to my room.” 

It was evident to Beatrice that Mrs. Willis sought safety in 
flight, yet she couldn’t understand why. “There’s something 
between those two,” she decided, “something important, that I 
ought to know about. Mother is unhappy. I ought to help and 
comfort her, but how can I when I don’t understand the situa¬ 
tion. I’ve simply got to keep my eyes open—watch quietly 
for a clue.” 

Mrs. Willis was more anxious than she had ever been in 
her life. And she was frightened. She felt that she was being 
enclosed by invisible wires, and that she did not know how to 
free herself. She was confident that she had placed herself 
in the power of an enemy whose system of warfare was beyond 
her comprehension. Hicks Jarou had not once mentioned 
the money he had loaned her, nor had he allowed her to do so. 
She felt, almost, as if he did not consider it a loan, but a pur¬ 
chase price; and that he might make her sufifer a long time 
before he would let her know exactly what he thought he had 
purchased. Yet always when she became panic stricken, as she 
was now, she had to admit that she really had no good reason 
for it. Hicks Jarou had said nothing of which she could 
complain. It was the way he sometimes looked at her that 
filled her very soul with fear. And Beatrice had noticed. She 
said he looked as if he hated her. How many of their friends 
had also seen that? What was her little world saying about 
her ? Did anyone know that her home had been mortgaged, and 
that the mortgage had been paid off ? Were her friends wonder¬ 
ing where she had obtained the money? How could she ever 
raise enough to repay Hicks Jarou? Oh, to be free from him! 


60 


HICKS JAROU 


Just to be free to tell him never again to cross her threshold! 
But how could that be managed ? It looked hopeless. Perhaps 
Franklin Potter — she had never liked Potter — she knew that 
Beatrice did not want to marry him—but he wanted to marry 
Beatrice. Might he not prove to be the friend in need? Why 
should she not sound him out? If she discovered that he was in 
a position to raise a large sum of money on short notice, why 
should she not confide in him—give him a glimpse of her dil¬ 
emma—perhaps throw herself on his mercy? If necessary, she 
was quite sure her brave daughter would pay the price. 

Late that evening Franklin Potter might have been seen 
cautiously threading his way along unfrequented streets leading 
in the direction of the home of Hicks Jarou. He was not seen, 
however, as he chose his time well, when pedestrians would not 
be likely to use the streets he traversed. Besides it was past 
midnight and heavy clouds obscured the sky and all its sources 
of celestial illumination. 

When he reached the house, he hesitated for an instant to 
make sure no casual passerby was there to observe. When 
satisfied on this point, he gave a peculiar rap upon the lower 
pane of the window built so high in the wall that he had to 
stand on tip-toe to reach it. The street door was immediately 
opened and he was admitted. 

“Are you leaving the city so soon?” he asked in dismay as 
he noted that Three Eyes was locking a well filled valise. 

“For a few weeks, yes,” replied Hicks Jarou. 

“But our case against Sir Wilfred Yonge! Do you wish 
it dropped ?”' 

“Decidedly not. Don’t let that worry you. Runjeet Singh 
has the necessary data.” Then turning to Three Eyes, “prepare 
yourself, Runjeet.” 

Three Eyes made himself comfortable in an easy chair, and 
seemed to drift into a light sleep. 

“This is the way the matter stands,” said Hicks Jarou to 
Potter. “Wilfred Yonge is coming to Royalton very soon. 


HICKS JAROU 


61 


and the silly title worshippers will go crazy over him, while 
he will go crazy over Beatrice Willis. We don’t want them to 
meet. That is why he must be exposed.” 

Franklin was too astonished for words. Why should Hicks 
Jarou be interesting himself in Beatrice Willis? Why should 
he care whom the girl married? Franklin did not like that 
casual allusion to the girl whom he himself hoped to marry. 
If Hicks Jarou objected to Sir Wilfred Yonge as a husband for 
Beatrice, did that mean that he had some one else in prospect? 
What possible business of his could it be anyhow? Franklin 
was worried—but he tried not to show it. He felt that he’d 
rather not discuss Beatrice with Hicks Jarou just at present. 
Hicks was going away for a time; perhaps before his return— 
he and Beatrice might marry. If he found them married upon 
his return—well, what could he do about it in that event? 

Hicks Jarou was sitting before Three Eyes, with his eyes 
fixed on the third eye of that individual, which had been 
uncovered for that purpose. Franklin shuddered, although 
he had seen it on several occasions. The other two eyes slept 
and were closed, but this eye seemed never to sleep, and when 
seen alone was fearfully bright and uncanny in appearance. 

“Are you ready?” asked Hicks Jarou, quietly. 

“Quite ready,” breathed Three Eyes. 

“Proceed.” 

“There was once a Knight,” said Three Eyes, “who had 
forfeited his shield and it was taken from him. He had another 
shield made but it never received recognition either from William 
Dugdale Norroy or any other authority.” 

Franklin was taking notes in shorthand. Three Eyes paused. 
“Go on,” commanded Hicks Jarou; “you can’t awaken yet. Go 
on—'any other authority’—go on from there.” 

“On the third shelf from the right, as you enter the royal 
library in England, you will find a book which holds proof of 
this fact. Also, procure book Number twenty-eight from our 
own library and turn to page three-ninety-seven. This ancestor 


62 


HICKS JAROU 


of Sir Wilfred Yonge was summoned before the King-of-Arms 
to show by what right he bore arms, and as he could not show 
that he was entitled to that honor he was then and there de¬ 
graded, and it was so proclaimed by the court crier in the square. 
No Yonge has had the right to claim a place among the nobility 
since that day.” 

“All right,” said Hicks Jarou; “we understand. Wake up.” 
Then to Franklin: “That will be all you need. Don’t let 
Yonge get a footing in Royalton. Spring this if possible before 
he has an opportunity to meet Miss Willis.” 

Since Wilfred Yonge has no part to play in this story except 
to make clear a certain question concerning Franklin that had 
been puzzling Miss Willis, it need only be said that he was not 
received by Royalton’s smart set, and that Franklin Potter 
thereby won another laurel as a genealogist. 

A nice little item appeared on the social page of The Royalton 
Star to the effect that, much to his regret, Hicks Jarou had 
been called away on an important matter, before his palatial 
residence was quite in order, and that therefore the very 
elaborate house-warming he had meant to give must be post¬ 
poned. And while Royalton discussed thei house-warming, 
about which most of them had not heard, and wondered who 
would be invited—who ignored—and who would attend, the 
subject suddenly lost its importance in a new announcement 
from Wash, the negro grave digger. 

He declared that he had seen Percy Southdown, alive and well, 
walking along the river bank with the tall, thin, dark man who 
had stood beside his grave, on that awful never-to-be-forgotten 
night. Severe, prolonged and canny cross questioning failed to 
change his statement in any particular. He had seen Percy 
Southdown—alive and well—walking along the river bank with 
the man whom he believed to be the devil. 

Notwithstanding the apparent proof of his first amazing 
statement that Percy’s grave had been rifled, this last declaration 
was too absurb for credence. Everyone knew that Percy had 


HICKS JAROU 


63 


shot himself through the heart—or had been shot by someone 
else—that he had died, that he had lain in state for two days 
before being buried—that he had been buried six feet deep, and 
that he had stayed buried at least twelve hours—which was 
quite long enough to have finished him even though he had' 
been buried alive. Of course he was dead. In all probability 
there were medical students who could have told exactly what 
had become of his body. Such things had been done before— 
and while it was distressing in a way—and, after all, it was just 
as well it should happen to a corpse without relatives. Of 
course Percy was dead. The subject was too silly to talk 
about. Something ought to be done about Wash. It looked as 
if he were losing his mind. His story was made out of whole 
cloth—it couldn’t be otherwise—yet—yet suppose it were true! 

Franklin Potter listened to the gossip—but said nothing. 
He had become deathly pale when he heard the story, and had 
been joked about his evident perturbation. 

“How about Percy’s ten thousand ? Has the Sunshine Society 
obtained it yet? If not, hadn’t you better take back your gift, 
and hold it until Percy can claim it?” 

Those were only a few of the questions thrown at Franklin 
and he was forced to smile—forced to say that when Percy 
came to him and asked for his money he could have it—forced 
to declare that the negro’s story couldn’t possibly be true—and 
yet forced to keep to himself the awful fear that it might be 
true. For in his heart he believed that anything of that sort was 
possible in the neighborhood of Hicks Jarou—the man who, 
when a mere boy, had made hearts beat in glass bottles. 

If that negro’s story were true—what might Percy do to 
him? If that were true—well, even so, he did not believe he 
would be allowed to escape from Royalton, no matter how hard 
he might try to get away. Until Hicks Jarou was ready to release 
him, he would be compelled to remain in Royalton, and meet 
Percy Southdown—and the Lord only knew what would happen 
then. If only he could summon the courage to kill himself. 


64 


HICKS JAROU 


But could he succeed even though he tried? Wouldn’t Hicks 
Jarou bring him back to life, and force him to do his bidding? 

What would they, who were joking him about his possible 
loss of an inheritance he did not want, have said could they have 
guessed at the awful fear that drained the color from his face! 
They didn’t know Hicks Jarou as he did. 


CHAPTER V. 


Again Franklin Potter might have been seen, late at night, 
making a furtive visit to the home of Hicks Jarou. It was a 
stormy night and he did not want to go; but he felt that he could 
not stay away. He could not quite believe the negro’s story 
about Percy Southdown—he hoped most fervently that it was 
not true—but he realized that it might be. And if it were, he 
must know it. If Percy were alive he must see him—alone— 
before any of their old friends had an opportunity to interview 
him. He was glad that Hicks Jarou would not be at home. 
Runjeet Singh could tell him all he cared to know. He gave 
his significant tap on the window in an angle of the house, 
after making sure that a lamp burned within, which meant that 
Runjeet Singh was awake and at work. Did the man never 
sleep? Why was he so long in answering the signal that had 
been agreed upon? Franklin shivered as he sought shelter a 
little closer to the beautiful honey locust tree around which the 
house has been built when the new addition had been decided 
upon. Hicks Jarou would never have a tree cut if it could 
possibly be avoided. 

After what seemed an age, a tall form came silently around 
the corner of the building, instead of opening the door near the 
window as he had always done before. 

“What is it?” he asked, inhospitably. 

“I want to get in out of this damned storm!” replied Franklin 
testily. “Why didn’t you open that door ?” 

“You can’t go in tonight.” 

“Why not, I’d like to know!” 

“Jarou’s orders. No one is to be admitted while he is away.” 

“But we can’t talk here in the rain, I want a word with 
you—” 

“Go ahead. I’m listening.” 


65 


66 


HICKS JAROU 


“Some one else may be listening—” 

“No one can hear if you speak softly. What is it?” 

“Runjeet, tell me! What did you do with the body?” 

“What body?” 

“Percy Southdown’s. I know well enough that you took it 
from the grave.” 

“Yes. I brought it here.” Runjeet’s reply was as matter- 
of-fact as if he were admitting an everyday occurrence that 
couldn’t possibly be classed as unusual by anyone. 

“Why?” whispered Franklin, almost fearfully. “And why 
did you do the job so carelessly?” 

“Carelessly?” 

“Was it necessary to leave the coffin there—and the grave 
open ?” 

“It wasn’t a bad plan,” replied Three Eyes with a grin. “It 
was desired that the occurrence should create talk. Everything 
is moving along very nicely.” 

“He was really shot through the heart, wasn’t he?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well then, wasn’t he dead?” 

“Oh yes, quite dead; but mortification had not set in. I 
attended to that—made it impossible—while he was at the under¬ 
taker’s. It was an easy matter. No one saw what I did.” 

“But why did you do that? I don’t understand. I must 
know.” 

“Because I meant to do exactly what I did do. We’ve been 
waiting a long time for something of the sort to happen to 
someone of sufficient importance to count. We want the affair 
to create a great deal of talk.” 

“Is Hicks Carew behind all this?” 

“Surely; no one else would have sufficient brains.” 

“Then he has been making an experiment?” 

“A very wonderful experiment. The world can no longer 
doubt that he is the greatest living scientist. No other man 
has succeeded in making a dead heart live again.” 


HICKS JAROU 


67 


“Then Percy is—is—” ; Franklin \ almost choked on the 
question. Three Eyes watched him curiously in the dim light 
afforded by the glow of the lamp shining through the window 
curtain. 

“The experiment was a success,” he said, purposely holding 
back the reply that he knew Franklin sought. 

“Does that mean that the man, is—that he still lives ?” 

“He still lives. ,, 

“Does he remember what happened before—before he shot 
himself ?” 

“Yes, and he thinks he recalls much that happened while he 
lay dead; but he is rather reticent as to that.” 

“Would he know me—all his friends?” 

“Oh, yes; but he no longer thinks of them as friends. He 
has gone through a curious change—his outlook on life is 
very different—” 

“Do you think he would see me?” 

“He might; I don’t know. I’m sure he wouldn’t seek you.” 

“May I see him?” 

“WJien?” 

“Now.” 

“It is rather late—but he may not have retired. He might 
admit you, if he’s still up. He keeps late hours as a rule.” 

“Where can I find him?” 

“Over there, in that little cottage. It was built especially 
for him. A light is burning.” 

“Will you go over with me?” 

“No thank you. Goodnight. It is time for me to be getting 
in out of the rain.” 

Three Eyes disappeared as silently and swiftly as he had 
appeared, and Franklin was left alone. The interview had left 
him feeling most uncomfortable. He believed he had detected 
a sinister undertone in the carefully worded sentences which 
had seemed to tell a great deal—which really were illuminating— 
and yet which withheld all that Franklin most wished to know. 


68 


HICKS JAROU 


He knew that Three Eyes was not in doubt as to his errand, 
and that he was deliberately avoiding any reference to that 
which he so anxiously sought. He would have to see Percy 
Southdown alone—have to find out for himself what danger the 
future held for him. And the sooner he faced the situation the 
better. He could stand the suspense no longer. He tapped 
lightly, almost hoping that his summons would not be heard, 
but the door was opened almost immediately, and Percy South- 
down—could it be Percy Southdown—stood before him. 

“Come in,” he said gravely; “Pve been expecting you.” 

“Expecting me?” stammered Franklin. 

“For several days. I knew you’d have to come as soon as 
you heard I was living.” 

“I — I — it was hard to believe.” 

“You thought you did the job too well for that, didn’t you?” 
A fleeting smile flickered over the grave face, which, to 
Franklin’s astonishment seemed to hold no look of anger. 

“Southdown, I was—” 

“Don’t call me Southdown,” interrupted the man. “I no 
longer sail under false colors. My name is Nathan Hawkins. 
I’m called Nat by my friends.” 

“I — I just wanted to tell you—that—that I had not meant 
to kill you—” 

“You aimed rather well,” replied Nat dryly. 

“I really had not meant to shoot you.” 

“Yet you brought your gun along when you came to call that 
night.” 

“I know I did. I meant to threaten you—but when you 
taunted me—when you said I was not fit to marry Beatrice 
Willis—” 

“But you know very well that you are not.” 

“I do not admit that. Why am I not fit, I’d like to know.” 

“A slave?” 


HICKS JAROU 


69 


“Don’t you call me that again. Don’t you dare!” Franklin’s 
temper flared again as it had that night, when he had shot the 
man who tantalized him. 

“Got your gun with you?” asked Nat quietly. 

“I have not. I shall never carry it again. God, man, can’t 
you understand how hard it is to listen to such an accusation? 

“Yes, it is hard—because it is true. That is why I pity 
you more than I blame you. That is why I left you that money 
—because I pity any white man who has allowed himself to 
become a slave. And that is your business, of course—but— 
hands off so far as Beatrice Willis is concerned. She is too 
fine to be married to a man like you.” 

“Did you think—masquerading as Lord Percy Southdown— 
that you were more worthy ?” 

“I should not have married her. I had already carried my 
little joke on Society’s pets about as far as I meant to carry it. 
Your wonderful expose only hastened the end by a few days.” 

“But you loved her?” 

“I did — and do. She is a fine girl—but her mother will 
compel her to marry for money—more, a hundred times more 
money than I ever expect to have.” 

“That reminds me. The money you left me—” 

“Ten thousand dollars—yes.” 

“I gave it to the Sunshine Society—but of course it has not 
been turned over—we can probably get it back—” 

“Let them keep it; I don’t want it.” 

“Don’t want it —but — but you seem — to need it—” and 
he glanced from the man in his workman’s suit to the sparsely 
furnished room in which they stood. They stood while talking, 
because his host had not asked him to be seated. 

“I do not want it,” repeated Nat. “My past is behind me. 
I am not proud of it. The money I brought to Royalton was 
the result of a lucky gamble. I was educated as a civil engineer 
—and I am now working at my trade. I earn what I get—I 


70 


HICKS JAROU 


refuse to take a penny more than I earn. I am a free man. I 
can earn all I need. We’ll not mention the ten thousand again.” 

‘‘Your wardrobe and books—personal belongings ?” 

“You may send those to me whenever you find it convenient— 
that is, if you’ve kept them. If not, never mind. I can get 
more according to my needs.” 

“May I ask your plans?” 

“I shall work for Hicks Jarou as long as he needs me. He 
is the greatest scientist I have ever known. I’m proud to be 
able to fashion some of the appliances he requires.” 

“I meant—your plans with respect to your—eh—your old 
friends—” 

“I have no old friends,” replied Nat quietly and without the 
least trace of bitterness. “I have not deserved friends. But I 
shall not avoid old acquaintances. I can’t. I wish it to be known 
that I was dead and buried,—shot through the heart—and that 
I live again. I wish it to be known that I live because Hicks 
Jarou has discovered how to heal a heart that did not fail through 
disease. It will mean much to humanity—after awhile; but the 
world is going to be slow to accept this astounding fact.” 

There was regret in his voice as he finished the sentence, 
and he seemed to have forgotten that he was not alone. He 
turned away as if to resume the task which engaged his atten¬ 
tion when Franklin disturbed him, and stood beside his work 
bench scanning a drawing with frowning brows over brooding 
eyes. Franklin was ill at ease. He felt dismissed, but he was 
not yet ready to go,—he had not learned that for which he 
had come. 

“You are going to tell—what happened?” he faltered. “Will 
you wait until I leave town before you do that?” 

Nat looked at him almost as if he had not seen him before. 

“Oh that!” he replied; “of course you wish to know that. 
I shall say that I was shot through the heart, but I need not 
tell who shot me. I have nothing to gain by jumping on you.” 


HICKS JAROU 


71 


“If you could only believe that I did not mean—that it was 
like temporary insanity—if you could believe that and forgive—” 

“I don’t know that I have anything to forgive,” was the sur¬ 
prising reply. “You will suffer more from that episode than I 
shall. Indeed, it brought me a very wonderful experience— 
an experience I could not have had otherwise—one that will 
affect my whole life. No, I have nothing to forgive—and I 
shall do nothing to make you suffer. You have enough coming 
to you without any additions from me. I will now. bid you 
goodnight—if you will kindly go and leave me to my work.” 

Nat returned to his work and Franklin let himself out, 
feeling that in every way he had gotten the worst of the strange 
encounter, and yet realizing that he should be giving thanks 
for having been let off so easily. He had shot a man, and 
was not to suffer for it. He had denounced a man no guiltier 
than himself, and was not to be called to account by this man 
he had abused. His position in Society was not to be taken 
away, and his rival had deliberately stepped down into the 
ranks of the laboring class, no longer to be met socially unless 
deliberately sought, and workmen were not sought, especially 
by those with whom he associated. He had nothing left to worry 
about so far as the Percy Southdown episode was concerned. 

Franklin believed that Nathan Hawkins would be true to 
his promise, and yet why should he believe that ? He had never 
believed in Percy Southdown. What was the nature of the 
change that had come over the man ? He not only believed that 
Nathan would be true to his promise, but he also confessed to 
himself that there was a quality of greatness about the man 
that he could never emulate. He felt that the difference between 
them was of such a nature that he would never feel comfortable 
in Nathan Hawkins’ presence; he would always feel ashamed of 
himself—always hate his inferiority—always wish he had the 
strength of character to go back, so far as that was possible, 
and begin where he left off when he sold his personal freedom 
for a salary that was greater than any man could honestly earn. 


72 


HICKS JAROU 


The following Sunday, they who had known Percy Southdown 
intimately were astonished beyond measure to see him march 
down the aisle of the fashionable church he had attended before 
his death, and take his place in the pew he had occupied ever 
since coming to Royalton. His subscription had not yet expired, 
and although no one ever expected to see him again, it chanced 
that the pew had not been taken by anyone else. 

As he came down the aisle an audible gasp swept over the 
congregation. Even the pastor gazed with wide eyes that could 
not believe in the reality of what they were seeing. Some of 
the congregation had heard the story told by Wash, the negro, 
but none had really believed it. Most of those present had not 
even heard it. They knew that he had been shot, or had shot 
himself, that he had died instantly—according to the doctors— 
and that in due time he had been buried. Many of them had 
attended his funeral, which had been quite a note-worthy spec¬ 
tacle. They were few who had not heard of the grave robbery, 
and it was generally accepted as a fact that his body had been 
used by medical students in the interests of humanity. His 
had been a well known figure, as that of an aristocrat is 
sure to be in a republican country like ours, and he had never 
entered that church without attracting much attention; but no 
one had expected or desired to see him there again. Yet here 
he was, calmly taking his old seat, and dressed quite as care¬ 
fully and exquisitely as he had been before his expose—in 
those days when he had been acclaimed Society’s most favored. 
He wore the same suit in which he had appeared on that last 
Sunday, and he was no less assured in his bearing than he had 
been then. In fact, he did not seem to realize what a sensation 
he was creating. His self possession was remarkable. Even 
though he had not died and been buried, how could he retain 
that supreme air of self-respect which had been his most 
notable characteristic before that humiliating expose had ap¬ 
peared in the Royalton Star! It was incredible. Such a thing 
could not happen. He had no right to be there—just as if 


HICKS JAROU 


73 


nothing had happened. It was a crime against humanity to 
force an acceptance as a fact of something that could not 
possibly have occured. Words cannot describe the poignancy 
of the thoughts that swirled through the minds of that fashion¬ 
able congregation and its fashionable pastor. “Are the others' 
seeing it, too?” was the burden of their mental agonizing. 
“Am I delirious? Is he really there?” It will be readily un¬ 
derstood that the services that day may as well have been omitted. 
No one heard a word. It is doubtful if the pastor, himself, 
knew what he was saying. But Nathan Hawkins knew that 
the poor pastor had quite unwittingly babbled something about 
a doubting Thomas who could not accept the evidence of his 
own eyes, but sought the added proof to be obtained from 
groping impious fingers,—and then had hastily caught himself 
up and buried himself in the safety of his written announcements. 

Never before had a congregation so dreaded to hear the 
benediction, for they knew that it heralded the approach of a 
most embarrassing moment. What should be their attitude to 
this man whom they had known as Percy Southdown? Should 
they ignore him? That is what he deserved—he himself would 
have to admit that—but ought they to do so in church—and 
more especially since this had been Communion Sunday? And 
could they do it after all the man had been through? Surely 
he had suffered enough. Besides, did they really want to do it ? 
Wouldn’t it be better to recognize his presence in a casually 
pleasant way—perhaps not so much as an equal—more as a 
repentant sinner—and thus win for themselves the coveted op¬ 
portunity to hear all about his horrible experience? Did he 
realize at the time tfrat he was being buried alive? What did 
he think about while lying under six feet of sod? Did he have 
any premonition of his final delivery? Of course he would 
not expect ever again to be received as a social equal—but there 
would surely be opportunities for discreet questioning. 

And what was Beatrice Willis thinking? What had the 
man’s unexpected appearance meant to her? In talking about 


74 


HICKS JAROU 


it afterward, they all agreed that she had turned deathly white, 
but no one could guess what she was thinking, or how she would 
meet the man she had promised to marry. She left the church 
at the conclusion of the sermon, quite as she had done on many 
occasions, and she did not appear in any way embarrassed. 

As soon as the service was concluded, Nathan Hawkins made 
his way down the aisle of the church—not hastily as if he were 
running away, but quickly enough to get well ahead of the old 
friends who had been seated near him. He made it clearly 
evident that he asked nothing whatsoever of anyone on earth. 
There was even something in his manner that caused his old 
friends to wonder if he cared to be recognized by them. He 
did not walk like one who had cause for shame. He avoided no 
one’s eyes. Instead he glanced at those whom he passed as 
casually as any stranger might have done, with nothing either 
of recognition, or embarrassment, or curiosity, in his clear gaze. 
His manner suggested the most self-respecting, the most in¬ 
dependent, of the best type of workman, whose life is too full 
of worth-while things to waste any of it on the idle rich, either 
In envy or in criticism. 

Alfred Burton hastily followed him, reaching his side as he 
left the church. 

“Hello, Southdown,” he said, cheerfully, placing a hand 
familiarly on Nathan’s shoulder, “whoever expected to see 
you here again!” 

“Not Southdown, if you please,” replied Nathan quietly. 
“Lord Percy Southdown is as dead as you thought him—good 
business too! My name is Nathan Hawkins.” 

There were not a few who overheard that much, and who 
really wished they might accompany the two men down the 
street. It was simply frightfully interesting—if they who were 
left behind really meant what they said. They felt quite in¬ 
debted to Alfred for having relieved them of a horribly em¬ 
barrassing situation. They really could not decide what to do, 
don’t you know ? But Alfred always acted on impulse. He did 


HICKS JAROU 


7 5 


exactly as he pleased, and didn’t care a copper what anyone 
said about him. The fact was that his position was so secure 
that there was really no one who would have cared to criticize 
him, no matter how erratic they might consider him. 

“I’d like to walk with you, if you don’t mind,” said Alfred 
with his most ingratiating air. “I’d like to know just what sort 
of joke you’ve managed to put over.” 

“Do you mean—before or since my death ?” 

“Your death,” scoffed Alfred ;“don’t pound your jokes in, 
old chap. I couldn’t guess the riddle in a hundred years. How 
did you do it?” 

“So far as I am concerned, it was all exactly as it appeared. 
I was shot through the heart—was buried—was rescued by a 
servant of Hicks Jarou, and my heart was mended. If you 
could see the big scar where I was opened it might be Jess 
difficult for you to believe what I say. My body was opened, 
and my heart mended, by the most wonderful scientist this 
world has ever known.” 

Alfred put both hands on Nathan’s shoulders and stood there 
facing him. “See here, man,” he said, “do you expect me to 
believe all that?” 

“No; but I wish you might, because it is the absolute truth. 
I wish it might be accepted. It will be some day of course; 
but the world is cruel to its greatest scientists. It must crucify 
them before it makes use of their gifts. I do so desire to show 
my gratitude to Hicks Jarou by testifying as to his service in 
my behalf. He has given me the opportunity to make amends. 
While much of my life was foolishly wasted, and can never be 
re-lived, yet I may do something worth while with the re¬ 
mainder if I work faithfully with that end in view.” 

“I suppose, when a fellow comes as close to death as you 
did, it does make him serious.” 

“That gunshot wound, and—and the expose—and the won¬ 
derful experience I passed through—all had a bearing on my 
present outlook—but I’d begun to think rather earnestly be- 


76 


HICKS JAROU 


fore any of that happened. You see, a man can’t fall in love 
with a nice girl without wondering if he is worthy. I knew 
damned well that I was not. But I didn’t know just what to 
do about it. Of course I realize that, whatever happened, the girl 
I loved was not for me.” 

“Would you care to take me into your confidence ?” 

“Partially, yes; but there is nothing I shall tell you that 
may not be repeated. In fact, I’m quite sure it would be any¬ 
how. You’ll find it too interesting to keep to yourself—and, 
after all, the people who received me—whom I fooled—have 
a right to know about me.” 

“You did make monkeys of us—there’s no denying that. 
And I’m not sure that we didn’t deserve it.” 

“My people lived in England,” said Nathan. “My father was 
one of the best engineers on the island—and I learned all he 
could teach me. I’m working at my trade, now—working for 
Hicks Jarou. But a few years ago I decided that I did not 
care to labor all my life, and so I went away from my home and 
after a time found a position as valet for old Lord Southdown.” 

“Valet!” exclaimed Alfred. “So that is where you learned 
to dress—” 

“That is where I learned how to act like an aristocrat. 
And that is where I heard of Percy—the son who is never 
mentioned by any member of the family. I think they do not 
know where he is, but that doesn’t matter. While acting as 
valet, I occasionally got tips — overheard the aristocratic 
gamblers who frequented the house—and took advantage of 
what I learned. When I had amassed as much money as I 
thought I’d need to—to do what I did—I came over here. 
You know the rest.” 

“And now?” asked Alfred softly. 

“Now I am going to work. Perhaps I may make good on an 
invention I have in mind. And while I go on with that, and 
with the task Hicks Jarou has set for me, I shall try to make 
someone understand that what I have told you about the gunshot 


HICKS JAROU 


77 


wound through my heart is absolutely true. I wish Mr. Jarou 
might get the honor as a scientist to which he is entitled—and 
that I might help a little to that end.” 

“But of course he’ll get recognition if he has earned it!” 

“Sometime, yes; but it may come a long time after he dies. 
Perhaps you’ve never thought what the world does to the men 
who dare discover new truths.” 

“Why, no; I don’t know that I have. Tell me.” 

“If I were to try to tell you all it would make a longer 
list than we have time for. And I couldn’t recall the names 
of all the scientists who have been crucified at a moment’s 
notice, granting that I know them all, which I do not.” 

“I didn’t know you were interested along this line. When 
did you find time for such reading at it must call for?” 

“I didn’t find time when I was wasting it with you idle rich; 
but I used to read a great deal before that—and I do now. I 
presume you never heard of Dr. Auenbrugger of Vienna, but 
he discovered and tried to teach the procedure of percussion, was 
derided, and for forty-two years his methods failed to obtain 
recognition.” 

“All Greek to me,” said Alfred, “but I’m interested.” 

“Dr. Semmelweis, the great Hungarian scientist, lost his 
position in the University of Vienna because he discovered the 
cause of puerperal sepsis; the Medical Society of Bologna 
shouted down Dr. Galvagni when he sought to explain his dis¬ 
covery of the galvanic current, through his memorable experi¬ 
ment with the electrified leg of a frog. For years a favorite 
joke among learned doctors was to croak when Dr. Galvagni 
appeared.” 

“I did read somewhere,” said Alfred, “of the scorn that was 
heaped on Harvey because of his discovery of the circulation 
of the blood.” 

“Yes,” replied Nathan, “and English Medical Schools are 
still trying to find reasonable excuses for their treatment of 
Sir Joseph Lister to whom we are indebted for listerine and for 


78 


HICKS JAROU 


the first lessons in antiseptic dressing of wounds. And they’d 
like to forget their persecution of Dr. Gall—Oh, when I get 
to thinking of the Medical societies I lose all patience. Why 
continue the subject? I have little hope that Hicks Jarou will 
live long enough to gain recognition through his discoveries 
concerning the heart.” 

Nathan ceased speaking and turned toward his companion as 
if expecting him to go his way. “I stop here,” he said finally, 
indicating a cottage well back from the road. “That is where 
I am staying while I work for Jarou.” 

“May I come to see you sometime?” asked Alfred. “I’d 
like to, very much.” 

“I’m so busy most of the time,” replied Nathan—“and I 
can’t find sufficient time to study as it is.” 

“Oh, come now! You are trying to put me off. You don’t 
work Sundays. Why can’t I walk home with you again next 
Sunday?” 

“Why, I suppose you can — if you really wish it so much,” 
was Nathan’s ungracious reply. “You see,” he added by way of 
explanation, “I don’t feel at all proud of that portion of my 
lifq with which you are acquainted. I’d like to forget it, since 
recalling it cannot help me in any way. I have put it behind 
me as definitely as I could, and I’m giving all the best of me 
to the future.” 

“But you can’t ignore all your old friends.” 

“I have no real friends in Royalton—and I do not intend 
to feed the curiosity of anyone I knew in the past.” 

“Well, old top, just hear me! You may not care for my 
society, but I care for yours. I find you mighty interesting, and 
I’m going to pester you at least once every week. Don’t kick 
against the pricks. You simply can’t help yourself. And here’s 
my prediction: You are going to find me better company than 
you think.” 

With that the two men separated, neither quite realizing 
how strong was to become the friendship between them. 


CHAPTER VI. 


On a certain day, readers of The Royal ton Star were unusually 
interested in an item which appeared on the society page. 
It was to the effect that Hicks Jarou had just returned from an 
airplane trip to the island of Tyrsanghee—a vast tract of land 
sleeping in the South Seas. 

“For years we have heard wonderful stories of this island/* 
they read, “and, according to Mr. Jarou’s report, these stories, 
have not exaggerated the amount of wealth and beauty of this 
garden spot of the world. But we are happy to announce that: 
we may now become better acquainted with it through its ruler* 
King Omar-Kouli, who has returned with Mr. Jarou, and will 
remain as his guest for several weeks. One interesting item 
concerning His Majesty’s visit, is that he is in search of a 
wife, and frankly states his purpose. His Majesty believes the 
interests of his people will be best served by bringing a lady 
from a foreign land to queen it over them, and to teach them 
the advantages and delights of our present day civilization. 
When speaking of Royalton he declared that a community which 
attracts a man of scientific learning, like Hicks Jarou, must 
surely be above the average in the quality of its population, and 
that is why he determined to pay us a visit. The Royalton 
Star takes pleasure in assuring him that his position is well 
taken, for we are the most modern of the moderns, and we are 
confident that he will have chosen wisely should he decide that, 
it is to one of our fair daughters to whom he will offer himself* 
his throne, his people, his lands and his wealth.” 

“Bunk!” exclaimed Alfred Burton, who had read the item 
aloud at one of Mrs. Willis’ afternoon teas. “His Majesty? 
Huh! Somebody’d better tell him that Royalton is fed up on 
nobleman stuff!” 


79 


80 


HICKS JAROU 


“But Hicks Jarou evidently stands for this man/’ said Mrs. 
Somers. “I don't believe he’d take the trouble to deceive us.” 

“Whoever heard of Tyrsanghee ?” demanded Beatrice. 

“I’ve heard of the place,” replied Franklin Potter, “but I 
must confess that I don’t know much about it.' * 

“King Omar-Kouli,” repeated Mrs. Somers quite sentimen¬ 
tally. “It has a fascinating sound.” 

“Oh, he’ll be carrying you around in his pocket in a week or 
:SO,” jibed Burton. 

“If he’s rich, young and handsome, I shall not object to the 
pocket,” Mrs. Somers replied, “but until I’ve seen the king, 
I’ll continue to concentrate on Hicks Jarou.” 

“What have you heard of Tyrsanghee?” demanded Beatrice 
to Franklin Potter. 

“Principally that it is rich in ore of various kinds, and secondly 
that Hicks Jarou has some valuable concessions that take him 
there occasionally.” 

“Of course you’ll give us King Omar-Kouli’s genealogical 
record,” put in Mrs. Somers vivaciously. “We’ll all be willing 
to pay well for a copy—take my word for that.” 

“Will you accept my verdict, as well?” 

“Of course. Your exposure of the fellow who called him¬ 
self Sir Wilfred Yonge makes it impossible to do anything else.” 

“Well, I’m from Missouri!” announced Alfred Burton. “I’ve 
got to be shown. I have not ceased smarting in the place where 
my self-esteem is located. His Majesty will get a cool reception 
from your humble servant.” 

“I presume he’ll decline to recognize you,” replied Mrs. 
Somers. “I don’t believe he’d take the trouble to deceive us.” 
friendship for Nathan Hawkins—alias Lord Percy Southdown.” 

“That will be up to him,” said Alfred cheerfully. “I never 
.did care for Southdown, as you all know—but Nat Hawkins 
js worth knowing.” 


HICKS JAROU 81 

“You said you’d bring him to call on me,” accused Mrs. 
Somers. 

“I tried to.” 

“Mean to say he refused to come?” 

“Absolutely. Said he had no time to waste.” 

“I don’t believe it.” 

“As you please. You can ask him yourself, you know.” 
“You two never meet without quarreling,” interrupted Mrs. 
Willis. “Won’t someone drag Alfred Burton away from Mrs. 
Somers ?” 

“Why not drag her away from me,” asked Albert plaintively. 
“She’s always picking on me.” 

“The lady you love will soon be a bride,” sang Mrs. Somers 
gaily, as she posed before Alfred, “with a diadem on her brow. 
Oh, why did she flatter your boyish pride; she’s going to leave 
you now.” She broke off abruptly and made a low obeisance. 
“She’s going to leave you now, Alfie, in favor of a King from 
Tyrsangee.” 

“Black, shining, well-oiled, illiterate, a ring in his nose, 
kinky hair—I can just see that King; can’t you, Potter?” asked 
Alfred. 

“Let us hope the description is not correct,” smiled Potter. 
“Why?” asked Beatrice. 

“Wouldn’t a really interesting king help out the social season 
just opening?” 

“I’m agreeing with Alfred as to the probable personal ap¬ 
pearance of this king — black — well-oiled — illiterate — bah! 
I don’t want to meet him.” 

“Candidly,” replied Potter, seriously; “I don’t believe he 
is anything like that/’ 

“Do you know that he isn’t?” 

“No; but it would not be like Hicks Jarou to bring such a 
man here, as his guest, and on such a mission as he mentions. 
The fact that Jarou invites him is proof to me that he thinks 
this king will be found attractive.” 


82 


HICKS JAROU 


“There’s something in what you say about Hicks Jarou,” 
rejoined Alfred, “if Nathan Hawkins has sized him up correctly. 
He says Jarou is so fastidious that he won’t have a house 
servant about him who is not interesting,—that there is not an 
employee on his place who is not a scholar with some particular 
line of study upon which he spends his idle moments.” 

“Have you met any of these servants?” asked Mrs. Somers. 

“Met them about the yard or when they chanced to drop into 
Nathan’s shack on some matter of business. They glance at 
me as if I were part of the furniture.” 

“How do they treat Nathan?” asked Beatrice. 

“Oh, he seems to understand them. I judge that they trust 
him — and I’m quite sure he likes some of them very much.” 

“I’m going to call on Nathan,” announced Mrs. Somers, 
“after he has had time to size up the king.” 

“Much good may it do you!” laughed Alfred Burton. 

“Think he won’t tell me anything ?” 

“I’m sure he won’t.” 

“You just wait! A surprise is in store for you.” 

Soon the merry company had disbanded and Mrs. Willis went 
to her room to rest. She was thinking hopefully about the king 
who wanted a wife. She could hardly believe her emancipation 
from Hicks Jarou would lie in that direction — but one never 
could tell! Anyhow it would do no harm to find out what she 
could. If the king chanced to choose Beatrice — and Jarou 
were pleased, he might deed the home to Beatrice free from all 
encumbrance. Then she would be free. It all depended upon 
what the king was like. If black and oily—Oh, no! But some 
South Sea Islanders were very handsome. Mrs. Willis felt 
quite sure that she could persuade Franklin Potter to give 
her an outline of King Omar-Kouli’s genealogical record, be¬ 
fore anyone else had seen it. If he really were a good match, 
Beatrice would then have a good start—” 

Soon after reading her morning paper, the next day, Mrs. 
Willis called upon Franklin and told him she wished to know 


HICKS JAROU 


83 


the facts before inviting Hicks Jarou’s guest to her next tea. 
One in her position must be very careful and more especially 
since she had so foolishly invited that dreadful Southdown. 
Skillfully she led Potter on to declare that, as she was prac¬ 
tically the leader of the social set, and her afternoon teas fur¬ 
nished other hostesses a key to the social standing of all new 
arrivals, she was, of course, perfectly right in her desire to 
know all that could be learned about King Omar-Kouli. 

Franklin Potter spoke with apparent frankness. Mrs. Willis 
believed she had led him on, but he had expected that lady to 
call and was prepared. He knew there would be others, too, 
many of them match-making mothers, and he was prepared 
to meet them all. 

Here is how it happened that he was not taken by surprise; 
at about two o’clock of that morning when the newspapers told 
the story of King Omar-Kouli, Potter had been summoned to 
the home of Hicks Jarou, and in that gentleman’s laboratory he 
had committed to memory such information concerning King 
Omar-Kouli as Jarou desired the world to know. 

There was not the slightest reason for Potter to doubt any 
part of the information — not even the lengthy document that 
traced the King’s ancestry back to one of the fortunate dwellers 
in Noah’s ark. Why should he doubt? Runjeet Singh had 
never once given him genealogical data that could be proven 
false. Potter ought to have accepted it, without question — 
and he did; yet he could not forget that the servant’s third eye 
had acted not quite naturally during that seance! It had 
flickered, and for a moment a really sinister gleam became visible. 
Franklin could not believe he was being told an untruth, he 
feared some fact had been withheld, that was all — just some 
fact withheld. He was prepared to stand back of such facts 
as had been given him, but if there were a fact that he should 
know — and it had been withheld — what about his future 
social position in Royalton? 


84 


HICKS JAROU 


Potter had closely studied King Omar-Kouli, in that inter¬ 
view in the laboratory. The man seemed to be more intelligent 
than he had supposed the king of a small island would be, and 
his manner was delightful, yet he confessed to himself that 
he did not like this king. There was something about his 
Majesty that was puzzling, nay, even antagonistic. To begin 
with, he did not look like a South Sea Islander. And he did 
not act quite normal, but in what way did he appear abnormal ? 
Franklin couldn’t say why he was not satisfied, but he knew 
he was not. There was something — but his mind refused to 
supply the clue he needed. Omar-Kouli was decidedly good to 
look at, almost too perfect in form and feature when in repose; 
but in conversation — yes, there was the trouble! Now he had 
his clue! When in conversation Potter recalled that the king’s 
features worked stiffly, as if he couldn’t quite control them. 
He had also noticed an odd peculiarity of speech, a slight 
accent in the pronunciation, and a deliberation that was not 
altogether due to the fact that he was speaking a foreign lang¬ 
uage. It was more suggestive of vocal organs out of repair 
and in need of oiling. A patient coming out from under an 
over-dose of cocaine sometimes talked like that. But the clue 
proved disappointing. It didn’t really lead to any conclusion— 
and the man was a king! That covered all of his defects, as a 
matter of course, and so he had told Mrs. Willis and she had 
readily assented. 

“No one expects a man — even a king — of any foreign 
country to be quite like us,” Mrs. Willis had replied with stately 
magnanimity, and the interview had closed with Franklin’s 
promise to give her a peep at the king’s genealogical record 
as soon as he had it completed, and with his assurance that he 
believed Omar-Kouli really was King of Tyrsanghee. 

The more Potter cogitated over the behavior of the third 
eye of Three Eyes, the firmer became his determination to 
demand further information concerning I^ing Omar-Kouli. 
He found Hicks Jarou in his laboratory, the windows of which 


HICKS JAROU 


85 


looked out upon the beautiful little lake that now covered the 
place where there was once a fine lawn. 

“I’ve come for further information,” he said, “before com¬ 
pleting the genealogical record of your guest.” 

“You have been given all that is necessary,” replied Hicks 
Jarou, who had his eyes fixed on a test tube in a glass on the 
table before him. 

“I am not satisfied with what you gave me.” 

“Oh! You are not satisfied!” Hicks Jarou abandoned the 
test-tube and concentrated on Potter. “What more do you 
want?” he demanded. “Have you ever had reason to doubt any 
genealogical record given you by Runjeet Singh?” 

“N-o-o-o, but this — this document extends back to Noah.” 

“Well?” 

“It is the first case on record—” 

“Every fact is usually supported by a first case. Can you 
find any flaw in this record?” 

‘No-o-o.” 

“If you can not, then no one can.” 

“I suppose that is true.” 

“You have met the king. Don’t you like him?” 

“Not as much as I had expected to,” confessed Franklin, 
adding nervously, “I have always thought myself capable of 
very great devotion to a king.” He could have kicked himself 
when he said that. For some reason he always appeared at his 
worst when with his employer. 

“You are still capable of great devotion,” replied Hicks 
Jarou, gravely, and there was a hint of menace in his tone. 
Franklin had a frantic desire to make good — say what he was 
expected to say — get back on to safer ground. 

“He certainly seems more intelligent than I had expected 
a king would be,” he hastily offered in his most propitiatory 
manner. He was now too nervous to realize how very damn¬ 
able his faint praise might appear to this master whom he feared. 


86 


HICKS JAROU 


“He is very handsome,” supplied Jarou, apparently taking no 
notice of Franklin’s nervousness. 

“Almost too perfect,” bleated Franklin, “like a china doll.” 

“When in repose, yes, you may be right,” admitted Jarou 
thoughtfully; “but when he talks—” 

“When he talks,” interrupted Franklin, desperately, “he 
gives the impression that he has not yet become used to his 
features.” 

“What do you mean by that!” demanded Jarou, menacingly. 

“Why-e-e, I don’t know,” stammered Franklin, shivering as 
he realized the extent of the awful blunders he had been making. 

“You must have some reason for what you said. Explain 
yourself.” Hicks Jarou’s voice convinced poor Franklin that 
none of his blunders were to be overlooked, or to go unpunished. 
He must go on — do his best— 

“Why I — ahem — silly idea, of course; but it seemed to 
me that — eh — that the King’s features worked — eh — 
rather stiffly, if you get what I mean — not uncommon, by any 
means—stiff features, and — and, ahem! it seemed to me that 
this peculiarity extends to his tongue — as if he hadn’t learned 
just how to control it.” 

“He is not in a class by himself, in that respect,” remarked 
Hicks Jarou dryly. 

“But the rest of us hardly give the impression that our vocal 
organs need oiling,” protested Franklin, with a grin that he 
hoped would make his speech seem like airy persiflage. 

“Oh, well,” said Jarou, easily, “the king is only human! He 
has his defects, like the rest of us; but, being a king, he will 
not be critized as you or I should be.” 

“There’s one thing I’d like to say,” interjected Franklin, who 
realized that he had not yet said what he had come to say—what 
his manhood demanded that he should say—“and that is, if you 
are trying to palm off a spurious king—” He stopped abruptly. 
Perhaps he’d better begin again. Palm off a spurious king— 


HICKS JAROU 87 

sounded more like what he was thinking than what he meant 
to say. 

“Well?” asked Hicks Jarou quite calmly, as Franklin stopped, 
surprised and frightened at his own daring.There was fearful 
menace in the black eyes fixed upon him in that unwavering 
stare. Potter felt it. He trembled. He wondered at his rash¬ 
ness in starting such a conversation. He wished he could get 
away—but he was there—he had to say something—he must 
try to defend himself—but how? By this time, he had lost 
control of the nerve that had sufficed to bring him there. He 
stammered—and then repeated, quite fiercely, that awful sup¬ 
position which he had not expected to put into words when 
he came in. 

“If you are trying to palm off a spurious king—” he splut¬ 
tered, and once more failed to finish the sentence. 

“Well? If I were trying—what then?” There was not a 
glint of amusement in the black eyes. 

“I would refuse to be a part of such deception,” chattered 
poor Franklin, in anything but warlike manner. 

“Oh! you would refuse.” Hicks Jarou was smiling, and 
there was an oily, purring quality in his voice. “Do you really 
think you would?” 

.. “You think I couldn’t help myself,” spluttered Franklin, 
“but you—you’d find out!” he finished with ludicrous tone¬ 
lessness. He was pale to the lips, and he trembled as if chilled 
to the marrow. He had realized at that moment, what had 
before been only a disquieting thought, that Nat Hawkins had 
been right. He really was Hicks Jarou’s slave, and he now knew 
that he would always do exactly what his master told him to 
do, no matter how much he would hate doing it. 

Hicks Jarou was laughing aloud, and his laugh had a decidedly 
pleasant ring. It was charming. “I wonder, he said, easily, 
“just why you should imagine that King Omar-Kouli is not 
exactly as Runjeet Singh has represented him to be?” 


88 


HICKS JAROU 


“I—don’t—know,” replied Franklin, slowly; “really, I don’t 
believe I did think that.” The black eyes were boring through 
his skull. His head felt as if it would soon begin to whirl. 

“But some such thought must have been in your mind.” The 
voice was suave, but the eyes stared unwinkingly. “Don’t be 
afraid to tell me exactly what you were thinking. Come now, 
I insist.” 

“I think it did occur to me, quite suddenly, how easy it would 
be for you to use me in—eh—in the way I suggested.” 

“That is, I might plan, quite deliberately, to make you the 
famous genealogist you have become, in order to get your en¬ 
dorsement in support of a spurious king? Is that what you 
thought ?” 

“Ye-es,” stuttered Franklin, “something like that.” 

“But why would I wish to do that? Let’s get down to the 
basic thought of your astounding accusation.” 

“I can see that it was quite ridiculous—in fact, unpardonable.” 

“Do you think jealousy might have anything to do with it?” 
inquired Hicks Jarou, with almost tender solicitude. 

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, let’s drop the subject,” pleaded 
Franklin Potter. “I—I must be going, now, anyhow.” 

“No, let’s understand each other,” and Hicks Jarou was quite 
fraternal, now. “I want you to be convinced—absolutely con¬ 
vinced in your own mind that the king is exactly as represented 
in that genealogical outline.” 

“And then?” asked Franklin in the tone of one who already 
knows the answer. 

“And then, I desire you to give the news to an awaiting 
public.” There was camouflage of the highest order in the tone 
that now covered a threat and a command, that Franklin Potter 
knew was not to be ignored. 

“Why,” he said, hastily and abjectly, “I have known all along 
that King Omar-Kouli is exactly as he has been represented.” 
The words seemed to come from his mouth without his own 
volition. He had not known he was going to say them. He 


HICKS JAROU 


89 


had never thought them, but once spoken he did not know how 
to unsay them, and yet he wanted to for his manhood demanded 
it. , 

“Good!” replied Hicks Jarou, with child-like simplicity. 
“I’m a fool!” was Potter’s next remark, uttered with great 
violence. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I can’t be myself 
at all. I’d better be dead—” 

“I do not think so,” replied Hicks Jarou, pleasantly. “You 
sometimes act on impulse, and that is not a mark of wisdom— 
but you are not a fool. For instance, you know how your 
bread is buttered, and how good the butter is. You know, 
also, that I’m the best friend, financially speaking, that you’ve; 
ever had. Now tell me how you happened to reach your extra¬ 
ordinary conclusion concerning King Omar-Kouli.” 

“It was not a conclusion so much as a suspicion. Something 
about Runjeet Singh’s damned third eye aroused my suspicions* 
I think.” 

“Runjeet would like to have the king deposed—Runjeet would 
like to head a revolution in Tyrsanghee—and become king^ 
himself. You know how such things go.; but I’m with the 
present king, and I hold the balance of power.” 

“I see.” Potter looked thoughtful, “I hope you’ll believe,”' 
he added uneasily, “that I really did not endorse what my speech 
implied. I’ve really known all along that the king is what you 
say he is.” Once again that sentence had come unbidden. 
Franklin felt that somehow Jarou was forcing him to repeat that 
inane speech until it should be graven on his brain in letters 
of fire. 

“I’m glad to hear you say so. I want him to have a good 
time, while he is here. I want him to meet the best people.” 

“When is society to meet his Majesty?” 

“I don’t know, exactly. He is a little under the weather, 
just now. The trip proved rather hard on him, but perhaps 
tomorrow—” 


90 HICKS JAROU 

'‘Will you take him over to Mrs. Willis* to tea tomorrow 
afternoon ?” 

“She has sent him a most cordial invitation, but he thinks 
he won’t feel well enough. Besides, is that the proper way to 
introduce him ? Ought a king to make the advances ? Wouldn’t 
it look as if he were doing that if he went over there so soon? 
Shouldn’t Royalton come to him?” 

“I suppose so,” replied Potter, slowly—“yes, I think you’re 
right about that. You must give a reception.” 

“A reception! The very thing. Thank you for suggesting it. 
Of course you’ll help me arrange it?” 

“I’ll be delighted. You needn’t worry about the details 
at all. You know I’d like nothing better than to take charge. 
Let’s make it more magnificent than anything yet given in 
Royalton.” Franklin had seen a way to get back what his 
blunders had cost him. The black eyes no longer stared at him. 
They looked pleased and satisfied. Franklin felt that an in¬ 
tolerable pressure had been lifted from his brain. 

“Go ahead. You needn’t try to economize on my account. 
I’m good for the bills, and I have the greatest faith in your 
judgment.” Franklin listened and was happy. 

The surprising part of our democracy is that there is nothing 
that will cause us to bend the knee quite so humbly as the 
opportunity to associate with royalty. Hicks Jarou’s house was 
soon thronged with gay guests who declared they could not wait 
for the reception, because they each wished to be first to welcome 
home their scientist! The scientist smiled sardonically, and 
never marred the cordiality of the welcome by any spoken doubt 
as to the welcome he would have received had he not brought a 
king along with him. 

Sometimes King Omar-Kouli met the guests who came to 
call upon his host, but not frequently; usually he refused to 
leave the palatial suite of rooms that had been placed at his 
disposal. Sometimes he was affable, but more frequently he 
was surly. If he had not been a king, he would have been 


HICKS JAROU 


91 


called decidedly ill-bred. But—the king can do no wrong! 
Hicks Jarou’s sardonic smile was frequently in evidence when 
he had occasion to note some servile acceptance of the king’s 
behavior that really merited a good old-fashioned spanking. 
Not that the man ever did anything that could be called immoral 
or cruel or lawless, but he was constantly breaking laws of 
society and conventionality, and we all know how difficult it 
is to forgive such infractions. Why? Because women are 
responsible for social laws, and women are not forgiving as a 
rule. But they readily enough forgave King Omar-Kouli, and 
only spoke of him as peculiar and eccentric, then smiled indul¬ 
gently and told one another that he was not like one of us— 
couldn’t be expected to be, don’t you know! But how refresh¬ 
ing ! How perfectly interesting! What a treat it was to know 
a monarch whose manners were so like those of the proletariat! 

Hicks Jarou listened and smiled. He seldom spoke of his 
guest, although given abundant opportunity and frequent invita¬ 
tion to do so, and no one could be sure just how he regarded 
him. For instance, when the king was unusually rude—did 
Hicks Jarou approve? 

“They are seen everywhere together,” remarked Beatrice 
once when talking it over with Mrs. Somers. “The king is 
staying with Mr. Jarou and of course they are friends. I 
can’t believe Mr. Jarou would entertain a guest of whom he 
did not approve.” 

“They are certainly very similar.” 

“That may account for their friendship.” 

“Do you know, Beatrice, I don’t believe it is a friendship. 
I don’t believe Mr. Jarou knows anything about friendship. 
I don’t believe he ever had a real friend, or ever desired one. 
He cares for nothing but his scientific studies, and if he is 
interested in any human being it is because he is hoping to 
find new material to dissect.” 


92 


HICKS JAROU 


Beatrice laughed. “Of course you don’t believe what you’re 
saying,” she replied lightly. “I find Mr. Jarou very affable, and 
one of the most interesting men I’ve ever met.” 

“Can you converse with him?” 

“In a way. I can always listen when he talks, and I enjoy 
that. I think you are right about his not having friends, but 
it is not because he doesn’t want friends. The fact is, his mind 
is so far above ordinary minds that there are few who could 
understand him. I believe he is often very lonely. I’d give 
half my life if I were wise enough to be his friend.” 

“I’d like to understand him,” confessed Mrs. Somers, “but 
I don’t want him for a friend. I’d like to understand him well 
enough to know how to administer a few digs that would hurt 
him to the marrow.” 

“You ferocious monster! What has the poor man done to 
you ?” 

“Nothing; but that is the way he makes me feel. Come in 
and I’ll show you the gown I’m to wear to the dear devil’s 
reception.” 

No one of any importance in Royalton failed to attend 
Hicks Jarou’s reception given in the king’s honor. Nearly 
the entire lower floor of the Jarou mansion was without par¬ 
titions, forming a magnificent hall well suited to ceremonious 
gatherings. It was evident that money had been spent lavishly 
in decorating this hall for the occasion, but the first thing that 
struck the eye was a wonderfully beautiful throne built at 
one end of the room. It was here, standing beside the throne, 
that Jarou received his guests and presented them to the 
gorgeously attired gentleman seated on the throne, who received 
them with what seemed like studied indifference. K : ng Omar- 
Kouli was in oriental costume of imposing splendor, and was as 
picturesque as the most romantic girl could possibly desire. It 
was stated by some of the guests who were considered authorita¬ 
tive in the matter of precious stones, that the jewelry worn by 
the king that night could not have cost less than a million dollars. 


HICKS JAROU 


93 


King Omar-Kouli looked bored. Hicks Jarou looked worried. 
It isn’t exactly pleasant to plan an entertainment for a guest 
who doesn’t appear to be entertained. Even Mrs. Somers was 
not as gay as usual, and Alfred Burton was so detached and 
observant in manner that Mrs. Somers called him Sherlock 
Holmes whenever she got close enough to him to speak to him. 
But suddenly the king’s eyes sparkled. His whole demeanor 
changed. He was interested. Beatrice Willis had entered the 
hall. She held herself proudly as she advanced toward the 
throne, and she looked far more like a queen than Omar-Kouli 
looked like a king. 

He did not wait for an introduction. “Girl,” he said, not 
caring who might hear, “Girl, if I had met you fifty years ago, 
how different my life might have been.” 

“Fifty years,” laughed Beatrice, “why, I wasn’t here fifty 
years ago.” 

“I was,” replied the king, and his tone was as convincing as 
it was melancholy. 

“I can’t believe that,” replied Beatrice, gaily. “I am sure 
your Majesty is joking.” 

“Let it go at that,” was the brusque rejoinder. “Age doesn’t 
matter, anyhow. Come, Girl, let’s get way from this rabble, 
where we can talk undisturbed.” 

“Will your Majesty dance?” politely inquired Franklin Potter. 
“The musicians have gone to the ballroom—” 

“Dance!” the king sneered contemptuously; “I command 
slaves to do my dancing.” 

That sufficed to spoil Franklin’s program so far as dancing 
was concerned. It also spoiled his evening, for the king led 
Beatrice away from the crowd, exactly as if he were leading 
her through a mob of curious peasants who had come to do 
homage, and he kept her to himself for the remainder of the 
evening. It was considered exceedingly rude by all the mothers 
of marriageable daughters, except Mrs. Willis. That lady 
was doing her best not to appear too well pleased with the situa- 


94 


HICKS JAROU 


tion. She was explaining that kings never could be called rude. 
They might sometimes appear so to people unaccustomed to 
the ways of kings, but it must always be understood that they 
made their own social laws. Then she joined Franklin Potter, 
hoping he would have something of interest to tell her about 
the king; something he had learned since their last meeting, 
but Franklin was not communicative. He was jealous. He 
was watching Beatrice, and it was his opinion that she was 
flirting outrageously, and everyone could see that the ill-tempered 
king was no longer surly. 

Franklin left Mrs. Willis with a murmured apology that 
sounded as cheerful as a curse, and made his way around the 
hall to a point of vantage behind the couple, who were too 
interested in each other to notice what anyone else might be 
doing. Franklin’s jealously was so intense that it led him to 
play the part of eavesdropper—something he really abhorred. 

“The heart!” he heard the king exclaim in astonishment. 
“Pardon me, but did you say anything about hearts ?” 

“I may have,” replied Beatrice evasively. “Is the heart never 
considered among your people, in questions of matrimonial 
alliance ?” 

“Somewhere,” said the king, “I have seen statistics which 
show when the heart ceased quite generally to be a factor in the 
business of mating.” 

“He has the soul of a Turk,” thought Franklin, and he was 
furious. He longed for a good opportunity to spoil the King’s 
perfect features. He wished Beatrice would call to him for 
help and let him do battle in her behalf—but that young lady 
seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. 

“Are your parents here this evening?” was his next question. 

“My father is dead. Mother is here. She will feel honored 
to know you.” 

“Of course I’ll want to study her; but mothers are not as 
important as fathers to the student of eugenics.” 


HICKS JAROU 


95 


“I don't know much about eugenics,” murmured Beatrice. 

“Never mind. I know enough for us both. I’m inclined to 
think your parents were good enough, on the whole, to produce 
a desirable line of females. I shouldn’t care to have been 
their son.” 

“If you please,” replied Beatrice, with dignity, “I do not care 
to hear any more of your comments concerning my parents.” 

“No?” quite unmoved; “well, that’s all right. I have no 
further comments to make concerning them. So don’t act as if 
you were angry with me.” 

“I don’t understand you.” 

“You will, in time.” 

“I’m not sure that I care to.” 

“You can’t help yourself. I shall see you every day.” 

“Without an invitation?” 

“Invitations are of no consequence to me. Look at me. 
Study me carefully. Would you call my face expressionless?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“Potter says it is.” 

“Oh, well, he sees you nearly every day, doesn’t he?” 

“Do you think it would be a hardship to see my face every 
day ?” continued the king, ignoring her question. 

“It might become monotonous —-if you always looked the 
same.” 

“Your face is very expressive. I can see that you are amused. 
You’d like to get away, for a minute, where you could laugh as 
heartily as you liked.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Beatrice in dismay, “don’t think that! I 
have not meant to be rude.” 

“Nor have you been. It is not rude to be natural. Have 
you had any of your teeth filled ?”. 

Beatrice gasped, but managed a faint “not yet.” 

“Good! I’m overjoyed to hear that. And your hair—is it 
all your own?” Beatrice nodded. 


<96 HICKS JAROU 

“Does it look pretty hanging down your back ? Is it naturally 
wavy ?” 

“It is, but — perhaps your Majesty does not realize that 
such questions are not customary—” 

“Hang custom. I believe that when a man is looking for 
& mate, he should go about it in a businesslike way. He should 
lmow what he is getting. Then he’ll never want a divorce.” 

He said this with great earnestness. He was not intention¬ 
ally rude. It was evident that he had no sense of humor. 
Beatrice was puzzled. She felt that she should show resentment, 
hut his attitude was such that she was not in the least offended. 
Instead, she was intensely interested. She wondered what he 
would say next. 

“It is evident,” he said, “that you have good health. Your 
physique is perfect. You would make a wonderful mother.” 

Franklin Potter did not care to hear any more. He told 
himself that the time had come for definite action. Beatrice 
must be saved. He found Hicks Jarou resting in his laboratory, 
where he had gone to escape the crowd for a few moments. 

“What do you want now?” asked Jarou, crossly. It was 
not an auspicious opening. 

“I want to know definitely what the future holds for me. 
I want to marry. I must know what I have to offer the girl to 
whom I wish to propose.” 

“You have found the girl?” 

“Yes. I want to marry Beatrice Willis.” 

“Have you told her so?” 

“I have intimated it. I think I have reason to hope. I wish 
to settle the matter at once.” 

“Why hurry?” 

“I want to save her from that damned king.” 

Hicks Jarou turned and looked steadily into Franklin’s eyes, 
“My boy,” he said, “I am hoping King Omar-Kouli will marry 
Beatrice Willis.” With that he left the room and rejoined his 
guests. 


HICKS JAROU 


97 


Franklin Potter stared after the retreating figure of his 
master with eyes full of misery — a misery that weighted his 
body and mind with leaden heaviness, for he had no doubt 
as to Jarou’s meaning. It meant a warning to him to keep 
away from the object of his love, to abandon her and calmly 
see another come to possess the one thing in life that meant 
anything to him, and he knew in his innermost consciousness 
he would not disobey the warning. 

“I am his slave,” he muttered miserably, “and only God 
knows how I fear him.” 

When Hicks Jarou left Potter so abruptly, it was not to 
emphasize displeasure with the young man, but to look for King 
Omar-Kouli and learn exactly the status of the king’s love 
making. He made it his business to keep in as close touch with 
his Majesty as was possible without creating comment. He 
quickly ensconced himself in the very seat that Franklin Potter 
had so lately abandoned. The King and Beatrice were still 
studying each other. The wonderful black eyes of Hicks Jarou 
were alight with the flame that comes to the eyes of an ardent 
scientist who believes his 1 best loved theory is about to be mater¬ 
ialized. He was happy in the belief that he would soon be told 
that this perfect specimen of womanhood had promised to 
become the wife of his protege. 

“But the human heart,” insisted Beatrice, her eyes fixed 
earnestly on the King’s rather too placid countenance—“you 
must know that the human heart cannot be cheated with im¬ 
punity.” 

“I’ve been reading some of the trash produced by modem 
writers, where the heart is played up in matrimonial alliances, 
just as if it were built of brain-matter instead of muscle. 
It is to laugh.” 

“You honestly believe your own heart never registers a 
sensation ?” 

“Not when I’m well.” 


98 


HICKS JAROU 


“I know I can suffer heart-ache when I’m perfectly well. 
No one could convince me to the contrary.” 

“It is an inherited fallacy,” was the calm reply. “I think there 
was once a time when the heart did register sensations of that 
sort; but it lost the power to register as humanity ignored it. 
You understand, I am sure, how the human body adapts itself 
to prevailing conditions.” 

“Oh, yes; I have read of pre-historic man with the monkey's 
tail,” replied Beatrice carelessly. 

“Then you must know that pre-historic man could not have 
shed the tail with which his simian forefathers endowed him, all 
in one moment. There must have been a period when some had 
tails, and some did not. Later, there must have been a time 
when many had heart-rending tasks trying to conceal the stump 
of a tail from more fortunate brethren who only had the scar 
left to serve as reminder of a former low order of animal.” 

“That, of course, I understand.” 

“Yes. My sympathies have always been with the heroic 
representatives of our! race who would suffer any torture 
rather than reveal the presence of that clinging evidence of 
simian origin; because, such fortitude makes swifter evolution 
possible.” 

“I see,” Beatrice said, thoughtfully intent. “Forget the 
stump and focus the mind on the stumpless, scarless ideal!” 

“Exactly.” 

“I wonder if you know what you are talking about?” asked 
Beatrice demurely. 

“I do not. How can I, when I’m looking at you.” 

“With your heart in your eyes,” suggested Beatrice mis¬ 
chievously. “Suppose you admit it. Wouldn’t that proclaim 
you a representative of the coming humanity, when hearts will 
again become popular?” 

“How logical!” exclaimed the king. “Of course, there must 
be forerunners of the new cycle, just as there were unhappy 


HICKS JAROU 99 

laggards in the old, and to be a forerunner is indeed worth 
while!” 

“Balderdash!” exclaimed Hicks Jarou, under his breath. “I’d 
better rescue my protege before he hangs himself with a rope 
of his own weaving.” 

“And the actions of a heart, even a modem specimen, are 
sometimes very interesting,” continued Beatrice, demurely. 

“Tell me about it,” demanded the king, eagerly. 

“Well, for one thing, the heart flutters when a certain person 
comes into one’s presence, but never does so for any other.” 

“You have felt that?” 

“Yes.” 

“You are very sure?” 

“Oh, yes. I’ve observed its action a number of times.” 

‘“And the heart’s emotion is always caused by the same 
person ?” 

“Always.” 

“I do not like that all!” exclaimed the king, angrily. 

“Why not?” inquired Beatrice, innocently. 

“Because you are not talking of me,” and without another 
word he got up and stalked out of the room. He sought refuge 
in his own suite, nor could he be persuaded to return again 
that evening. The guests left as soon as they felt that they 
could without offending Hicks Jarou, and when they were all 
gone, that gentleman breathed a long sigh of relief, and growled 
that they had hung on as if they thought he had invited them 
to stay all night. 



CHAPTER VII. 


The reception Hicks Jaruo gave in honor of his illustrious 
guest took place one Saturday evening, and on the following 
day Alfred Burton walked home from church with Nathan 
Hawkins—just as he had been doing ever since that first 
Sunday when Nathan occupied his old pew. And he always 
went without an invitation. 

It had become clearly evident to all who had known him as 
Lord Percy that Nathan Hawkins did not care to associate 
with any of them. He had a detached sort of way of looking 
at them which left them wondering whether he was looking 
through them or beyond them, and they felt a criticism in his 
gaze that was most aggravating, considering the circumstances. 
Had the man forgotten that he was the one who deserved the 
severest criticism? Alfred’s friends could not understand what 
they called his insane infatuation for this man, whose life among 
them had revealed him as so utterly dishonorable and unworthy. 

“Of course,” they agreed, “there was the mystery of his 
death—terribly intriguing and all that—don’t you know—but 
only for a time. There was no doubt but it was a put-up job 
if one could only get at the bottom of it, and anyhow one 
couldn’t be expected to be interested in that forever.” 

It was generally agreed that the easiest way was to accept 
Nathan’s statement that Hicks Jarou had managed to mend his 
heart and set it going again—and that some day that operation 
would be as common as the operation for appendicitis had be¬ 
come. This gave added interest to the picturesque personality of 
Hicks Jarou, and no one objected to that. It had become the fash¬ 
ion to expect that man to work wonders. It made him delightfully 
mysterious, and a most interesting topic of conversation. What 
society did object to was Alfred’s devotion to a man who had 


100 


HICKS JAROU 


101 


no place in the limelight. He didn’t seem at all interested in 
Hicks Jarou, but he followed Nathan about like a pet dog. 
And why did he do it? When stripped of the aristocratic 
trappings of Lord Percy Southdown, there was nothing left, 
so far as society was concerned, that could possibly focus atten¬ 
tion upon Nathan Hawkins. His former victims had quite 
speedily asserted their superiority to the workman, and to such 
purpose that even what he had done to them seemed to have 
been completely buried. They had reached a point where they 
could calmly ignore him—if only Alfred Burton would cease 
reminding them of him. Alfred was always doing something 
disconcerting and unexpected, they complained, but this latest 
obsession of his was enough to try the patience of all who 
cared for him. He had actually given the man an opportunity 
to make it appear that he was ignoring them. 

There was a small group—a sort of inner circle of Royalton’s 
smart set—that had formed the habit of meeting every Sunday 
afternoon; and since these informal parties had been organized, 
Alfred Burton had been the central figure. The others could 
not seem to have a good time without him. It was annoying 
to know that he now preferred to spend his Sunday afternoons 
with a mere mechanic like Nathan Hawkins. 

“I didn’t see you at the party last night,” Alfred was saying, 
quizzically, as the two men seated themselves in Nathan’s 
sparsely furnished work room, where a second comfortable 
chair had been installed since Burton had made it clear that 
he meant to force his company upon his somewhat unwilling 
host. That chair was the only evidence Burton had been given 
that his presence was ever more than barely tolerated. 

“The party?” repeated Nathan; “Oh, I looked in,” he added 
with his usual air of bored indifference when any matter of 
social interest was brought up. 

“It didn’t interest you?” 


102 


HICKS JAROU 


“It disgusted me. It made me wonder how in time I ever 
found any amusement in hoodwinking people of so little im¬ 
portance in the world.” 

“Seems to me that some of us are considered fairly import¬ 
ant,” replied Alfred, mildly. 

“Your money is so reckoned,” was the quick retort. 

“You think we wouldn’t amount to much if stripped of our 
possessions ?” 

“Precisely; and when you give the matter honest considera¬ 
tion you will agree with me.” 

“To some extent, perhaps. I’d never become Bolshevistic 
because deprived of wealth, however.” 

“You think I’m in danger of that?” 

“I sometimes fear so.” 

“If you could know how little money means to me—nothing, 
absolutely nothing, unless it represents worthy achievement.” 

“I can believe that. I’ve heard that you refused to take 
back the ten thousand you willed to Potter. But your talk, 
Nat! You’re getting cynical. You talk like a crank.” 

“Do I? I certainly do not care for that sort of reputation. 
I must put a guard on my tongue. Thank you for reminding 
me. 

“You see, Nat, I happen to know some very fine people 
among the idle rich—as well as some who are not worth know¬ 
ing. But, you know, you’ll get that mixture in any social 
stratum. However, let’s not argue about that today. What 
I’d like is your candid opinion of last night’s party.” 

“I told you it didn’t interest me.” 

“Yet it was given by a man whom you profess to admire.’ 

“And I know he was bored to distraction. He felt that 
he owed it to his guest—whose mission here is, to say the least, 
peculiar—to give him an opportunity to meet Royalton’s finest 
young ladies.” 

“But why the finest? Don’t you think a kitchen mechanic 
would do very well?” 


HICKS JAROU 


103 


Nathan laughed. “He is fair skinned—but it seems to me 
he might find a suitable mate in the wilds of India. He has 
queer manners. I could see that he worried Jarou—yes and 
Runjeet Singh too.” 

“Runjeet Singh! Say, have you ever seen that third eye?” 

“Oh, yes.” 

“Then it is really true! I didn’t believe he had one.” 

“It is usually covered—and a good thing it is. It doesn’t 
make him pleasant to look at at.” 

“Does he see with it?” 

“I fancy he doesn’t—as one sees with the two normal eyes— 
but I believe it helps him to see what the normal eye can’t 
see at all. He is a fine fellow—in spite of his infirmity, and 
the best nurse in the world. He took me through the illness 
following my—eh—my accident. No trained nurse could have 
a tenderer touch or be more skillful. Of course he was under 
Jarou’s orders all the time.” 

“You and Jarou are getting rather chummy, aren’t you?” 

“We often work together out here. I enjoy that. He has 
wonderful hands. I wish I could do as much with mine as he 
does with his. He would make the most marvelous surgeon 
this old world has ever known, if he’d give it his attention. 
But he is a born scientist—interested only in research work— 
and he says his time is too precious to be spent in fighting the 
Medical Trust as he would be-obliged to do should he try to 
make his methods common property. However, we’ve talked 
that over enough, don’t you think?” 

“Yes. Frankly, just now I am more interested in King 
Omar-Kouli. Have you met him?” 

“Yes, for a few minutes.” Nat laughed at the recollection. 
“He came in here yesterday to ask me if trial marriages had 
become popular here. Of course I told him no. 'That’s a 
mistake,’ he replied. 'A king should have that advantage any¬ 
how. But if not, could one ask the lady to sign a contract to 
produce at least three children?’ He seemed to think that 


104 


HICKS JAROU 


should be done in a country like ours where women rule, and 
babies are not popular.” 

Alfred threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Oh” 
he gasped, “if I could only be permitted to hear him make that 
request of some of our modern girls.” 

“It would certainly be amusing,” replied Nathan, joining 
in the laughter—“And I believe he’ll do it.” 

The conversation was interrupted, at this point, by the en¬ 
trance of Mrs. Somers. The two men stared in astonishment. 
She had not knocked for admittance—simply opened the door 
and walked in, and now stood before them smiling as serenely 
as if she had been sent for. 

“Are you going to say that you are glad to see me?” she 
demanded vivaciously. 

“No,” replied Nat gravely. “I can’t imagine why you came.” 
Somehow the words did not sound as discourteous as they 
appear in print. They were a simple statement of fact, and 
were delivered without any sort of personal feeling. She had 
come. What was her errand? That was all. 

“I had more than one reason for coming,” was the reply, 
given with her usual sprightliness. She had no intention of 
taking offense, and she was determined not to leave until she 
got good and ready. 

“May I sit down?” she asked. 

“If you wish,” was the non-committal reply. 

‘Won’t you offer me a cup of tea?” 

“I do not make it here. I eat in the servants’ hall. You 
would hardly care to go there with me.” 

“No; no, frankly, I should not like that at all. Nor can 
I believe that you like it.” 

“It makes little difference to me where, what, or with whom 
I eat. I have other things more important to think about. 
You have not yet told me your errand.” 

“One reason for coming is to take Alfred Burton away 
with me.” 


HICKS JAROU 


105 


“Yes? Well, that’s all right.” 

“Now see here!” protested Alfred, “I don’t like to be dis¬ 
posed of like one who needs a guardian.” 

“You promised to join us, today,” Mrs. Somers reminded 
him, “and we don’t propose to let you forget it.” 

“I won’t forget it,” agreed Alfred. “Cross my heart—I’ll 
be there.” 

“You’ll come with me,” replied Mrs. Somers, firmly. Then 
turning to Nathan—“seems to me, Percy, you take a lot of 
Alfred’s time.” 

“My name is Nathan Hawkins,” he reminded her, “and Mr. 
Burton takes a lot of my time. Was there anything else?” 

“Yes. We want you to be one of the speakers at a charitable 
entertainment we are planning to give.” 

“One of the speakers? What topic have you in mind?” 

“Why, I thought if you’d tell us of your experience—” 

“Hicks Jarou is the only one who could tell exactly what 
he did to my heart. He would be worth listening to.” 

“Oh, I don’t mean anything, scientific. That would be deadly 
dull. No one would pay to hear anything like that! But if 
you’d tell us how you felt—what you thought—” 

“Which I will not do. I refuse to satisfy the curiosity of 
you and your friends.” 

“Oh, I’ve put it badly! We want to build a community 
house for working men and their wives—” 

“If you’ll take my advice you will let the working class alone. 
Why should you insist on making us objects of charity? Why 
not let us work out our own salvation!” 

“But Nat,” interrupted Alfred, “aren’t you interested in 
making conditions better for those less fortunate than your¬ 
self?” 

“Better? Most assuredly. I’ll welcome anything that is a 
move to obtain justice for labor against capital. Give us that, 
and we’ll soon get for ourselves all that is good for us. We 


106 HICKS JAROU 

are not helped when we take gifts thrown at us as we throw a 
bone to a dog.” 

“How changed you are!” exclaimed Mrs. Somers. “I can 
hardly believe I ever knew you.” 

“You never did.” 

“You used to be so agreeable.” 

“That was my business—then. Thank God I’ve sloughed 
that all off.” 

“But couldn’t you have done that without shooting yourself ?” 

Nathan made no reply. 

“Do you know,” continued Mrs.. Somers audaciously—“I 
don’t believe you did commit suicide.” 

“No?” 

“No. How could you have stuffed yourself into a sewer 
after you’d shot yourself through the heart.” 

“That does look like a poser. But, you know, I might have 
gotten into the sewer before I fired the fatal shot. That is 
where my body really belonged.” 

“Some people laid it to Franklin Potter.” 

“Poor Franklin Potter.” 

“That reminds me of your will. Why did you say that you 
pitied him so greatly?” 

“Hadn’t you better ask him? I don’t enjoy gossip about 
anyone with whom I associate.” 

The emphasis on the personal pronoun was not to be ignored. 
Even Mrs. Somers had to admit that she had been reprimanded. 

“You are not a gentleman,” she snapped— 

“No,” was the quiet reply—“just a workman.” 

“Are you coming with me, Alfred? Or will you leave me to 
make my way unattended.” 

“I will come with you, of course. But don’t think,” to 
Nat, “that I’m not coming here again, for I am, and very soon.” 

“And next time,” replied Nat, with a fleeting smile, “you’ll 
jack me up for being rude.” 


HICKS JAROU 


107 


“You bet I will, you old porcupine,” said Alfred with decided 
warmth. He was really vexed with his best friend, and meant 
to make him feel ashamed of his behavior. 

“Well,” laughed Mrs. Somers, when they were well away 
from the cottage, “I got it that time, didn't I ?” 

“You really deserved it, you know,” replied Alfred, lazily. 

“Of course I did!” was the hearty response. “I had no 
business butting in as I did. But oh, how I do wish Beatrice 
Willis had been there!” 

“Why?” 

“I'd have liked to study her reaction. Do you know, I think 
she was really fond of Percy Southdown.” 

“I never thought so.” 

“Well, she’d have liked him today. I did.” 

Alfred stood still in his astonishment, and stared at her. 
“You don’t mean that!” he exclaimed. 

“I certainly do. Sort of cave man stuff he handed out, 
you know. I fancy most women enjoy that occasionally.” 

“Well, I’ll be damned! Wait, while I look up a club to hit 
you over the head with—” 

“No use, Alfred, you couldn’t do it convincingly. That 
isn’t your style.” 

“I think I could learn,” replied Alfred hopefully. 

“Wonder how it would do for you to learn of King Omar- 
Kouli ?” Mrs. Somers actually giggled. “He is the most original 
specimen of humanity I ever saw! You’d never guess what 
he said to me at the reception.” 

“Did you get him alone for a tete-a-tet, as you threatened?” 

“Did I! Do I ever threaten in vain when it comes to 
planning a good old-fashioned flirtation? Listen; I saw him 
stalking away from Beatrice, so I blocked his progress and 
lured him to a quiet nook, and we sat down together—quite 
near—I allowed my shoulder to touch his—” 

“I know. You’ve done it to me. Get on with the story.” 


108 


HICKS JAROU 


“The king suddenly faced me, and placed both hands on my 
ribs, pressing hard like an osteopath. ‘No!’ he said as if talking 
to himself, ‘no, you wouldn’t do; you’ve worn your corsets 
too tight. There’s a depressed seam in your liver, your breast 
bone is deformed, your intestines are pressed downwards, and 
a hump is forming on the back of your neck! No use wasting 
time on you. Goodby!’ Then he stalked off to his own room 
and left me sitting there alone—for which I was very grateful— 
for if I couldn’t have laughed then and there I should have 
burst open.” 

“He needs a good healthy fist dancing on his nose,” said 
Alfred almost savagely. 

“No, really! Do you know, he is the first absolutely nat¬ 
ural man I ever saw. He knows what he wants, and sees no 
reason why he should conceal his desires, and no reason why 
he should pretend to admire someone whom he doesn’t admire 
at all. I rather like that in him.” 

“You get absolutely furious when I offer the tiniest criticism.” 

“I know it. And I can’t explain the difference. Anyhow, 
the king thinks he’s shut me out of his little matrimonal con¬ 
quest, and I’m wondering if I’d get a thrill if I tried to prove 
that he has another thought coming.” 

“It might prove a disagreeable experience.” 

“Very likely. I do wish I knew what he said to Beatrice 
Willis.” 

“Why do you care?” 

“She evidently angered him. If I could guess what her 
reply was like, I’d make mine different when he said the same 
thing to me.” 

“But just why do you care what that man thinks?” 

“I suppose because he’s so different from anyone else I’ve 
ever known. I think it would be exciting and fascinating and 
just a little dangerous to make a playmate of him—and so I 
want to try.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A week had passed since the evening of the magnificent 
reception given in honor of King Omar-Kouli—and people 
were telling one another that some period of each day since 
that event, Beatrice Willis and the king had spent together. 
The king was rushing her, there could be no doubt of that. 
They believed that he had decided whom he wanted for the 
future queen of Tyrsanghee. The question of greatest interest 
to them now was “will Beatrice marry the king?” Mrs. Somers 
declared, with a comfortable sigh, that she supposed it was up 
to her to find out, and so the afternoon tea at the home of Mrs. 
Willis was unuasually well attended that day. 

Beatrice was not at home when they first arrived. Mrs. Willis 
explained that she had gone for a walk with the king and had 
not yet returned. 

“Will you recognize old friends when you have a king for 
a son-in-law ?” asked Mrs. Somers, audaciously. 

“How can I tell before it happens,” replied Mrs. Willis with 
a slight smile. 

“Don’t you know whether Beatrice will accept him ? Anyone 
can see that it is in her hands.” 

“Beatrice has not confided in me,” replied Mrs. Willis, 
candidly, “and I’m hoping she won’t. It is a matter that I 
should not feel able to help decide.” 

“She has always been rather unexpected,” continued Mrs. 
Somers; “one never knows what she’ll do next.” 

“Oh, yes we do,” put in Alfred Burton; “all that is necessary 
is to know what the other fellow is going to do. Beatrice will 
do the opposite. Haven’t you noticed that? She usually likes 
the people the rest of us don’t care for — and she’s always on 
the side of the under dog in any of our social squabbles.” 


109 


110 


HICKS JAROU 


At this moment Beatrice entered the room—alone. “Where 
is the king?” demanded several voices in unison. 

“He said he’d appear later. Said something about changing 
for the occasion.” 

“Then he must consider it a very unusual occasion,” exclaimed 
another of the guests. “For an aristocrat, it does seem to me 
that he is horribly careless about his personal appearance.” 

“What do mere garments amount to when one has the face 
and figure of a god,” demanded Mrs. Somers. 

“And the manners of a South Sea Islander,” added Alfred 
Burton. 

“He is a South Sea Islander,” said Beatrice defensively. 
“Do you know,” she continued, “I think it is a shame to make 
fun of the stranger within our gates. Do you think we’d do 
better if we were visiting Tyrsanghee?” 

“Where is Tyrsanghee?” asked Alfred. 

“About four hundred miles from Tahiti. It is quite a large 
island. Mr. Jarou showed me—on the map. It doesn’t bear 
that name. He changed to Tyrsanghee when he became inter¬ 
ested in the island.” 

“One of the Polynesian group ?” 

“I think not, although there are Polynesians living there.” 

“And he is training Sikhs to live there, also.” 

“He wishes civilized ways of living to be introduced there— 
and the Sikhs are ambitious and pliable.” 

“Pliable! That’s the word I’ve been wanting. Seems to me 
no other word would fit into Jarou’s plans for the world.” 

“We’re not interested in Hicks Jarou,” interrupted Mrs. 
Somers, “but in that most surprising guest of his. I never saw 
a man who seemed so absolutely different from everyone else 
in the world.” 

“Then you haven’t seen much of Nathan Hawkins,” offered 
Alfred Burton. “He is the most surprising man I know—and 
the most interesting.” 


HICKS JAROU 


111 


“Oh, don’t drag him into the conversation,” replied Mrs. 
Willis petulantly. “We have already had enough of him.” 

“No, you keep quiet, Alfred, and let Beatrice have the floor,” 
coaxed Mrs. Somers. “Come on, Beatrice, be a good girl and 
save our lives.” 

“Save your lives?” 

“Yes, we’re dying of curiosity. Do tell us just what you 
think of King Omar-Kouli.” 

“Well, of all the nerve!” 

“I’ve a right to know,” persisted Mrs. Somers. “If you 
would let him alone, I think there’d be a pretty good chance 
for me. I interest him immensely. It is only fair to tell me 
what you think of him.” 

“Why, to be frank with you, I don’t think of him at all when 
I’m not with him; and when I am with him I’m kept so busy 
answering questions that I can think of nothing else.” 

“What questions:—‘do you love me?’ ‘will you be mine?’ 
questions like that?” 

“Oh, no; the king doesn’t believe in love.” 

“He doesn’t!” 

“That’s what he says.” 

“Wonder how he expects to propose?” 

“I don’t believe he expects to propose. When he gets good 
and ready to talk business I imagine he’ll say to the girl of his 
choice, ‘woman, we start for Tyrsanghee tomorrow.’ ” 

“What if she objects?” 

“In that case, he’ll probably drag her along by the hair.” 

“Regular cave-man stuff! Well, that’s the impression he 
gives. I wondered if you’d noticed it.” 

“And do you think,” asked Alfred, “that any modern girl 
who casts her vote, will stand for anything like that?” 

“Why not?” demanded Beatrice. “The vote doesn’t amount 
to anything at all when something of greater interest is offered. 
Women clamored for equal rights because they were bored to 
death by a world of uninteresting men.’ ’ 


112 


HICKS JAROU 


“Hear! hear!” applauded several of the guests. 

“No one can accuse the king of being commonplace,” added 
Mrs. Somers. “He certainly is diverting.” 

“He keeps one thinking,” added Beatrice. “Is there anyone 
else in our set who has more to offer?” 

“There are a few,” replied Alfred, “who pride themselves 
upon being gentlemen.” 

“Gentlemen?” scoffed Beatrice; “and who defines the term? 
Our men are mostly too conceited—too well pleased with 
themselves, to even try to be gallant. They are too selfish to 
care how their behavior may impress others. They are too 
lazy to become well informed on any subject. They have so 
little self-respect that they would allow any woman to sup¬ 
port them. Gentlemen! I’ll take the savage in preference, 
any time!” 

“Ha, ha!” crowed Mrs. Somers; “now we’ve found out what 
we have been wanting to know. It took a combination of king 
and cave-man to win our Beatrice!” 

“Who knows he is a king?” queried Alfred Burton. 

“Hasn’t Franklin Potter said so?” 

“I haven’t been able to make him say so in a way that convinces 
me,” continued Alfred. “He usually quotes Hicks Jarou—” 

“Sensible man,” exclaimed a quiet voice at the door, and 
Hicks Jarou entered, unannounced, as was his habit. The 
guests looked uncomfortable, but he appeared more genial than 
usual. “I seem to have arrived at an opportune moment,” he 
added, “for I happen to know that my friend is as much a king 
as human laws can make him. In this day, who really believes 
in the divine right of kings? You may believe me, however, 
when I tell you that Omar-Kouli is a king, and that his kingdom 
of Tyrsanghee contains more square miles than England.” 

“And even so he might not be very wealthy,” replied Mrs. 
Somers. 

“He is wealthy in his own right, and Tyrsanghee is prosperous. 
In fact, it has exceedingly rich mineral deposits that have 


HICKS JAROU 


113 


scarcely been tapped as yet. Not only that, but one day all I 
have will belong to Omar-Kouli.” 

“He is to be your heir!” exclaimed Mrs. Somers in a tone 
of awe. “How fortunate for him.” 

“Many a king would be glad to get what I shall leave behind 
me,” replied Hicks Jarou, in a manner so matter-of-fact that it 
could not be considered in any way boastful. 

“Isn’t your great friendship for him a little surprising ?“ 
ventured Mrs. Somers; “not that King Omar-Kouli is in any 
way unworthy,” she hastened to add, “but he is so—so—differ¬ 
ent and you seem so wrapped up in your scientific studies— 
you can see, can’t you, what a very interesting problem you have 
become to us old gossips ?” 

Hicks Jarou was generous. He was there for that purpose. 
He had known of the comments concerning the king, as well as 
himself, and he felt that the time had come for the citizens 
of Royalton to be thinking as he desired them to think. 

“It is difficult,” he said, “for those who have not lived in 
Tyrsanghee to understand one of its people. I hardly know 
how to tell you that you really have no idea of the romance 
concerning my friend—he doesn’t do himself justice in any 
way. I worry whenever he comes among you because I am 
so sure he will do or say something that you can’t understand 
since his way of thinking is that of the man who has not been 
spoiled by civilization. He is absolutely natural—far more 
truthful than any of us—and in most ways better worth know¬ 
ing. But even so, my heart is not so wrapped in him, personally, 
as it is in what he represents—and that you cannot understand 
until you spend some months in Tyrsanghee — as I hope you 
will all do before many years have passed.” 

Hicks Jarou was his most charming self as he said this. 
They all felt more closely drawn to him than had been possible 
before. He seemed to have withdrawn the barrier between them 
that they had all felt, more or less, and which all had resented— 
but now he was absolutely lovable. 


114 


HICKS JAROU 


“By the way,” he asked, turning to Beatrice, “where is my 
friend? He told me he would be here this afternoon.” 

“He told me so, too,” replied Beatrice. “After our walk, he 
said he would go to the house and dress for the occasion.” 

“Dress for the occasion!” repeated Hicks Jarou, who was 
evidently puzzled. 

“That’s what he said,” replied Beatrice, “and he had quite an 
air of mystery when he said it.’ ’ 

“If you’ll excuse me,’ said Hicks Jarou, bowing before Mrs. 
Willis, “I’ll go and see what he is up to. I’ll bring him back 
with me—but probably not dressed for the occasion — as he may 
be planning to be. You see, he has often expressed a desire to 
come here in his native dress—” 

“Oh, do let him come that way,” interrupted Mrs. Somers. 
“We are all crazy to see him in native dress.” 

Hicks Jarou took his departure, a cryptic smile on his face, 
and without having promised to gratify their desire to see his 
guest in native dress. 

He could not have gone more than a block from the house 
before the king entered. He had approached the house from the 
opposite direction, and had evidently given a large part of 
Royalton the opportunity to see him in the garments he had 
found in one of the rooms where the Sikhs slept. As he turned 
to enter the house, a small army of boys who had been following 
him gave a final yell of delight before dispersing. They had 
seen a policeman in the distance, and knew that discretion was 
usually considered the better part of valor. 

King Omar-Kouli’s costume consisted of a long strip of 
tapa cloth wrapped around his body, covering him from just 
under his arms to his knees. On his head he wore a wreath 
of dried leaves, and a wide band of shells encircled his neck. 
As a matter of comfort he retained his silk socks and oxfords. 
Society gasped. Mrs. Willis was the most uncomfortable woman 
in civilization. She hated to have Hicks Jarou in her home, 


HICKS JAROU 


115 


but now she prayed for his speedy return. How else could 
she hope to get rid of King Omar-Kouli! 

“Now you feel really comfortable, I suspect,” said Alfred 
genially. “Not much about that costume to restrict the circula¬ 
tion.” 

• “Shouldn’t you like to get rid of that stiff collar?” inquired 
the king—“and the B'.V.D.’s that feel as if they’d split one clear 
up to the neck—and the shirt that is always crawling up—” 

“Hold on!” interrupted Alfred. “Have a heart, man! Why 
should we make public all our woes!” 

“Well, I thought you were about to criticize me—and that 
I’d better get my criticism in first.” 

“Far be it from me to critize you! Hicks Jarou has just 
been telling us what a wonderful man you are.” 

“Hicks Jarou!” with a short scornful laugh; “you couldn’t 
convince him that he really knows absolutely nothing about me— 
the real me! Yet that is a fact.” 

“What do you mean—the real you?” asked Mrs. Somers, 
quickly. 

“Haven’t you discovered,” asked the king quite mysteriously 
“that Jarou doesn’t believe in life after death? He doesn’t 
believe in the soul—or the astral body—or anything that he 
can’t see and feel and take apart and put together again. Such 
a man cannot know anything at all about humanity that is worth 
knowing.” 

“He is a wonderful scientist,” said Beatrice, coldly. 

“Oh, I suppose so,” replied the king, as if bored to dis¬ 
traction; “but what of it?” 

“What do you think is the most necessary characteristic of 
the successful scientist,” asked Mrs. Somers, wickedly. She 
had seen Hicks Jarou enter the house, and hoped he’d enter the 
room in time to hear something of the opinion of his protege. 

“Madam,” replied the king, seriously, “the successful scientist 
must have indestructible guts.” 


116 


HICKS JAROU 


For a moment an appalling silence reigned in that room. 
No one knew what to say next, or whether they could say any¬ 
thing without collapsing in uncontrollable laughter. 

“The king has evidently read his Francis Gal ton to good 
purpose,” said Hicks Jarou smoothly. “If you remember what 
he said—but perhaps you have not read him. However, he 
taught that any man, to become great along any line, should 
have a sound visceral organization.” 

“Oh, yes,” gasped Mrs. Somers. “And do you think it neces¬ 
sary for the great scientist to believe in a soul ?” 

Beatrice had made her escape, and from the corner of his 
eye Hicks Jarou noticed that the king had promptly followed 
her. He knew that the king had come dressed as the King of 
Tyrsanghee with the belief that he should be dressed that 
way when he meant to demand a lady as his queen. He would 
have prevented that exhibition if he could — but fate had 
circumvented him. Now he would do his best to entertain the 
company and give the king time. So he told them, in the most 
interesting manner at his command, enough of the human 
machine to make it clear that it was a machine and nothing more 
—that it worked perfectly as long as every part was kept in 
order and that it became cranky when not properly cared for. 
When it outlived its usefulness, it was thrown aside—” 

“By whom?” asked Mrs. Somers. 

“By relatives and friends—just as we throw aside anything 
that is no longer pleasant to have about. Either burn or bury 
it—and go about our business until it is our turn to be burned 
or buried. As for a soul escaping—that’s all childish nonsense.” 

“Yes, I suppose it is,” assented Mrs. Somers, who was 
frankly yawning, and then she provided escape for the other 
guests by announcing that she had stayed a fearfully long 
time—had never enjoyed an afternoon more, but that she must 
now toddle along. Soon all the guests had left, except Hicks 
Jarou. They left messages for Beatrice who had not returned, 
and they looked as if they could all guess why. Of course she 


HICKS JAROU 


117 


would not remain in the garden alone with the king—especially 
after he had made such an appalling exhibition of himself— 
unless she meant to ignore custom and accept the man as he was. 

“Have you told Beatrice that you borrowed money from me,” 
asked Hicks Jarou, as soon as Mrs. Willis and he were alone. 

“I have not. I saw no reason why she should be worried 
about a business matter that she cannot change.” 

“But, you know,” replied Jarou, softly, “she might be able 
to change it — to your liking.” 

“By the way—that note—” Jarou looked as if he did not 
understand, thus forcing her to explain. “You said you would 
bring a note for me to sign—” 

“Oh, that! I’ve been too busy even to think about it. But 
why worry? Why not enjoy your home to the last minute?” 

The last minute! The words sent a cold chill down her 
spine. The last minute! What did he mean by that! It sounded 
sinister. Was there some crowning humiliation in store for 
her ? At that moment Beatrice entered the room alone. 

“Where is the king?” asked Jarou. 

“Gone home to put on some clothes,” replied Beatrice, adding 
quickly, “I knew you would be mortified because he came 
here, as he did, and so I kept him out of sight until everyone 
had left the house.” 

“That was thoughtful of you. Tell me, did his appearance 
shock you ?” 

“A little.” 

“Mrs. Willis,” he then said, quite irrelevantly, “may I have 
a word with your daughter, — alone?” 

“Better ask her,” replied the mother tartly. “She does 
as she pleases.” 

“Thank you,” replied Hicks Jarou suavely, as he held the 
door open for her, and then closed it carefully, and seated him¬ 
self opposite Beatrice. 

“I did not tell those tiresome people,” he began without 
preamble, “that Omar-Kouli’s wife is destined to become the 


118 


HICKS JAROU 


mother of a new race — a race that will become the inspiration 
of all future scientists. It is a glorious destiny. ,, His eyes 
shone with the brilliant light of the true scientist, and Beatrice 
thought she had never seen him look so handsome—so manly— 
so well worth knowing—so absolutely desirable. Still, she was 
very tired, too tired to talk, and she wished he would go and 
give her an opportunity to rest. She felt that her day had been 
hard enough, and she had a faint presentiment that she was 
about to hear something that would not please her at all. 

“You did not tell the others,” she said, speculatively; “why 
do you tell me?” 

She was hoping to hear him reply that he told her because 
she was the only one with sufficient mentality to understand 
him. Ever since she had known him she had hoped he 
would say something like that. She really believed that no one 
else in Royalton understood him as well—and someday she 
would know the joy of hearing him say so. What she did hear 
staggered her, it was so entirely unexpected. 

“Beatrice,” he said softly, pleadingly, with his soul in his 
eyes, “Beatrice, dear little girl, I am hoping you will marry 
Omar-Kouli.” 

“I marry—that king! I? You are hoping that?” 

“Yes, Beatrice. I cannot tell you how much I hope—” 

“Don’t say it. I shall do nothing of the sort.” 

“Don’t Beatrice! Don’t decide against him like that! 
Take time to consider—if you wish—but don’t decide against 
him unless you must. This means as much to me as it does to 
him. If you refuse to marry him, it will be the greatest dis¬ 
appointment of my career.” 

“I don’t see why you should care—like that.” 

“I’ll tell you someday—perhaps very soon. Don’t decide 
against him until you know what that would mean to me. You 
have no idea how I have depended upon you. I was so sure you 
would marry him. Think, child, he can give you everything 
you want—” 


HICKS JAROU 


119 


“Except love,” interrupted Beatrice. 

“Love is a small matter compared to what you may mean to 
the scientific world—” 

“I hate your scientific world.” 

“I do not believe that. You are the only one who has mind 
enough to understand—but of that later. You will give the 
king his hearing ? For my sake ?” 

“Suppose I prefer someone else!” 

“Do you?” 

“I have met a man who makes all other men seem insignifi¬ 
cant.” 

“Who is he? You can tell your best friend, can’t you? You 
have called me your best friend—” 

“You are,” replied Beatrice, quickly, “you mean more to 
me than—than—well, I can tell you things that I couldn’t 
tell my own mother.” 

“Then you can surely tell me the name of this man who 
threatens my happiness.” 

“Your happiness!” Beatrice blushed divinely, but the obtuse 
scientist never noticed it. 

“Why, yes, Beatrice. I have told you that I’d be most happy 
if you were to marry King Omar-Kouli.” 

“Oh!” Beatrice showed disappointment. “I remember that 
you said something of the sort,” she replied carelessly. 

“This other man,” pursued Hicks Jarou, “won’t you tell 
me who he is ?” 

“No-o-o. Not now. I’m feeling so very different from 
what I ever expected to feel—shy and happy, you know, and 
I just want to keep his name to myself as long as possible. 
I’m telling you this much because you wish me to marry the 
king, and—and I don’t see how I can.” 

“But, Beatrice, my child, this other man may not be worthy.” 

“Oh, he is worthy,” replied Beatrice, who was now on the 
verge of tears. “My great trouble is that I’m not sure whethei 
or not he cares for me.” 


120 


HICKS JAROU 


‘‘Then there is no promise between you ?” 

“No. But the more I think about the matter the more sure 
I am that it would be quite impossible for me to marry any 
other man. And I’m so worried because I know my mother 
expects me to marry.” 

“And you| feel that you should do as she wishes ?” 

“I owe it to her. If this man I care for—Oh, if he only 
could come to care for me—then everything would be all right!” 

“But if he should not—then what becomes of your mother? 
The king will be patient—I think. Wouldn’t it be wise— 
wouldn’t it be loyal to your mother to consider him ? Don’t you 
think, my child, that you could bring yourself to do it?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know.” 

“As his queen, you could give your mother every comfort. 
You could make her remaining years very beautiful.” 

“I have thought of that. I’d like to be able to do it. My 
mother has spent so much on me that she has endangered her 
own future.” 

“I know. You certainly owe her a great deal.” 

“If I could only earn money—” 

“Think how much you’d have to earn to keep your mother in 
the style to which she is accustomed.” 

“She could live more simply—” 

“I’m sure she doesn’t think so. She wouldn’t be happy. 
You must think of her happiness as well as of her comfort— 
don’t you think?” 

“Oh, I know it! I know it! She hasn’t a suspicion about 
this other man—you’ll keep my secret?” 

“Need you ask?” 

“No, no; there is no one in the world that I trust as I 
do you.” 

“Thank you,” replied Hicks Jarou gravely. “That is the 
finest compliment I ever had.” 

“Of course I told the king—” 

“Told the king?” 


HICKS JAROU 


121 


“That Fd given my heart to another—” 

“You told the king that!” 

“I thought it only fair—under the circumstances—he—he— 
seemed so sure he owned me—” 

“How did he take it? Was he very much upset?” 

“I don't know. He looked odd. He said ‘well, that ends 
it; I’ll take off this blasted regalia!' then he hurred away 
without another word.” 

“Pardon me,” interrupted Hicks Jarou, hastily, “if I leave 
without speaking to your mother. What you say worries me. I 
must go to the king at once.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


Hicks Jarou had never made better time than when he 
covered the distance between the Willis residence and his own. 
The scientist who had appeared so superior to ordinary vex¬ 
ation was now decidedly a prey to an anxiety that must surely 
be caused by something of greater moment than a host's care 
for his guest’s comfort or disappointment. 

He was met at his door by Runjeet Singh, who looked no 
less anxious than his master. “I’m glad you are here,” he 
said, gravely. “The body has been demanding that you be 
sent for.” 

“When did he come in?” 

“Less than an hour ago.” 

“How did he appear ?” 

“Very much perturbed. Angry, too, excessively angry. He 
said he wasn’t going to wait forever to speak with you, and if 
I did not send for you I’d be damned sorry!” 

“The independent cuss!” grinned Hicks Jarou. “Did you 
ever see anything like it ? Isn’t he as real as anyone you know ? 
Runjeet, I’m the greatest scientist the world has ever seen.” 

Hicks Jarou and his servant entered the rooms that had been 
set apart for the king. 

“Well,” said the scientist brusquely, “what do you want 
now ?” 

“Aren’t you rather impolite to a king?” was the smiling re¬ 
sponse. “In what royal court did you receive your training?” 
he added insolently. 

“In public I give you such consideration as I wish others 
to show you; but in private, neither you nor I will forget that 
you are my creature.” 

“You made this body, and you made a very good job of it, 
too, I’m willing to grant that; but my dear man, you didn’t 


122 


HICKS JAROU 


123 


make me, and you don't own me, you can neither keep me nor 
command my obedience.” 

Hicks Jarou looked his amazement. “What in time do you 
mean?” he asked, “I wonder if what you say really means 
anything to you.” 

“Oh, I know you won't understand. But I mean just what 
I say, and I say just what I mean. I’m not a puppet. You've 
played with materialism so long that you can’t and won’t be¬ 
lieve in anything you can't dissect and put under your micro¬ 
scope. You've actually been believing that the chemical com¬ 
pounds you’ve stirred together, and baked in your old incubator,, 
and called brain matter, are responsible for the movements of 
this body.” 

“So they are! A reaction took place—” 

“Reaction fiddlesticks! What took place is this: I saw you 
working over this body, and decided to step in and make 
myself at home. I wanted to try earth life again—just to 
see if I’d enjoy it as I did when I was here before.” 

“Who do you think you are?” asked the scientist with all 
the scorn born of his scientific knowledge. 

“I know who I am,” was the earnest reply; “I've known 
that ever since that day about forty-seven years ago, when I 
committed suicide because a girl rejected me, and I found my¬ 
self walking about among old friends whom I could see, touch 
and hear, but who could never be made to realize that I was 
anywhere except in the grave where they had placed my body.” 

Hicks Jarou looked at Runjeet and smiled tolerantly. “We 
have allowed him to listen to Nat Hawkins more than is good 
for him. Nat believes all this rot about entities that live in¬ 
dependently of the body.” 

“Nat knows,” said the king. 

“He has hypnotized himself,” retorted Hicks Jarou, “and 
doesn't know how to awaken himself from his trance. There 
is nothing in what he says that I can't prove or disprove in my 
laboratory.” 


124 


HICKS JAROU 


“Don't be too sure of that," replied the king. “Better keep 
an open mind and try to learn something. I’m about to give 
you the opportunity. I leave this body tonight." 

“W-h-a-t! What‘s that you say! You are leaving—" 

“Leaving this body. I leave it in as good condition as I 
found it. I appreciate your kindness in permitting me to use 
it. You must admit, however, that I have taken pretty good 
care of it." 

“You think you are something that can go out of that body?" 

“I know I am." 

“Nonsense. You are the result of chemical combinations—" 

The king laughed. “Poor, blind scientist!" he said, “life 
hasn't taught you very much, has it? How long will it take 
you to learn—I wonder if you ever will learn—that there is 
something that can live either in or out of a material body!” 

Hicks Jarou smiled in his most superior way. “When I 
see you outside the body,” he replied, “what you say may seem 
more plausible. I believe what I can see, hear, touch, smell 
or taste. I know exactly how you came to be—” 

“How this old shell came to be," interrupted the king. “I 
tell you that this body—or any body, is absolutely nothing in 
itself. When I leave, you’ll have to tuck this old shell back 
into that incubator where I found it, and keep it going by 
artificial methods just as you’ve been doing all these years.” 

“My master cannot understand," interrupted Three Eyes, 
“but I do. He does not believe in the doctrine of a soul. But 
I do. I am sure you can leave that body if you wish—but 
why should you? It is in perfect condition—shows no sign of 
wear—is good to look at—is well provided for—why leave?" 

The king, embarrassed, answered evasively. “Well—there 
is a reason." 

“Has it anything to do with Beatrice Willis?" 

“I may as well admit it..” And an expression of pain flitted 
across the handsome face. “Miss Willis won't become my 
mate, and life on earth without her is not attractive, so I leave." 


HICKS JAROU 


125 


‘‘Don't be in a hurry!” pleaded the scientist, quite forgetting, 
in his anxiety, how he had scoffed at the possibility of his 
leaving at all; “if that’s your trouble, just wait.. I have in¬ 
fluence over Beatrice. She will change her mind.” 

“I don’t want a wife who does not wish to live with me, and— 
Beatrice loves you!” 

“Love! Don’t repeat that detestable word. It means less 
than nothing.” 

“It did to me,” replied the king, simply, “until that girl 
convinced me. I now believe in love. I repeat—” 

“Don’t trouble yourself.,” interrupted Jarou, who showed 
unusual and quite unnecessary irritability. He turned to Three 
Eyes—“The body is out of order, its brain is not functioning 
properly. We’ll look it over carefully.” 

“Hear him!” the king laughed hilariously. “I’ve just told 
him news that any man should rejoice to hear, and he says 
it comes from a disordered brain.” 

Hicks Jarou’s eyes blazed angrily. “Let me hear no more 
of your nonsense,” he said curtly. “Go to bed.” 

“Don’t hurry me,” replied the king merrily, “you wouldn’t, 
if only you could believe that this is my last night on earth. 
Let me enjoy myself. Heavens! but all that play-acting was 
tiresome!” 

“Play-acting!” Jarou was scornful. “You’ve been behaving 
like a damned clown. Do you mean to tell me you weren’t 
doing as well as you could?” 

“I was playing the savage king to the best of my ability. 
Didn’t I do it right? I seemed to be making a hit.” 

“You succeeded in disgusting the girl I wanted you to marry!” 

“No doubt about her being disgusted.” 

“But if you can do better—there’s still time—I’ll pave the 
way—” 

“No thank you; I’m done. I’m quite through—this exper¬ 
ience is almost ended. Understand, old top, can’t you? I’m 
absolutely through with this hand-me-down!” 


126 


HICKS JAROU 


“Hand-me-down!” 

“Listen. You haven’t discovered the secret of life, and you 
never will. This body lives and grows under artificial stimulus, 
but it will never move undependently.” 

“How have you been living the past month if not independ¬ 
ently ?” 

“I haven’t lived. I’ve just been moving this body. Why 
won’t you understand! You’ll have to believe in independent 
spiritual life tomorrow, when you are forced to shove this body 
back into your incubator; but this evening, I’d like to have 
you listen with an open mind, for I want to tell you something 
about love.” 

“Love! Delusion! There is no such thing as love.” 

“Jarou, old friend, you will never be a great scientist until 
you can understand love.” 

“Put him to bed,” ordered Hicks Jarou of Three Eyes, and 
impatiently left the room. 

Hicks Jarou considered the human body simply as a machine 
whose function it was to convert one kind of energy into an¬ 
other—a machine made of protoplasm which possessed the power 
to assimilate nourishment and grow. He had constructed a 
body which lived and grew under the influence of the mechanical 
devices he had invented to provide necessary artificial resper- 
ation, the proper amount of heat, and a well controlled circu¬ 
lation of a very good imitation of blood. He had believed 
that this body started into independent existence when the 
chemicals composing it had worked themselves into a certain 
condition; and now that this creature he had created proved to 
have sufficient mind to tell him things quite different from his 
purely scientific deductions, he presented a problem that re¬ 
quired further study. He could see the matter in no other light. 
If this machine he had constructed seemed to be acting in¬ 
dependently, and against his wishes and plans, then there must 
be some complication that he had not provided against. But 
to believe some floating astral—bah! that led to the old belief 


HICKS JAROU 


127 


in black magic. He would have nothing of that! And he was 
not to be blamed so much as pitied for his delusions. He had 
long ago accepted the view point of the materialistic school— 
had been true to his convictions—had been giving the best years 
of his life to an attempt to prove his point—and had succeeded 
in creating a very wonderful body by artificial means—a body 
so nearly perfect that it could hardly be distinguished from the 
real article. 

But something had gone wrong. He had willed his machine 
to act along certain lines, and suddenly it had announced its 
intention to disobey him. Evidently something had gone wrong 
with one of the glands. The endocrine system had furnished 
his most difficult problem from the start. He had never felt 
quite satisfied with the tissue used for the intestinal gland, and 
he wasn’t exactly comfortable about the pituitary. He believed 
either of these might prove to be the cause of his present 
problem. 

Three Eyes entered the room where Hicks Jarou had for¬ 
gotten his perplexities over the king, in a careful examination 
of a human heart that he had long had in pickle. He had meant 
to study the gland textures, but for some reason the heart 
had intrigued him. Could that bit of muscle so react as to 
cause the emotion known as love? If so, just what took place? 
Which nerve was responsible? 

“You’d better come,” said Three Eyes, tersely, “the body 
is like a log.” 

The scientist hastily followed his servant to the bedroom of 
the king. The body lay on the bed, carefully dressed in a 
faultless evening dress. The face, freshly shaven, was of the 
hue of death. In one stiff and icy hand was a note addressed 
to Hicks Jarou. 

“I’m leaving the body in good condition, as you see. I must 
tell you that I have found it very much more comfortable than 
the one I wore when last on earth, but even a satisfactory body 


128 


HICKS JAROU 


can not hold me here any longer. I shall try to find another 
tenant for you and it. It must be returned to the incubator 
before it shows signs of decomposition.” 

As he tore the king’s note into shreds, Hicks Jarou was more 
nearly discouraged than he had ever been in his life. He had 
created something that he did not understand and could not 
control. The body was returned to the incubator and the man 
who had made it wearily left the room. Three Eyes followed 
him. A long night was to be spent in scientific research, but 
that was not so bad. They had often worked all night. As 
long as Hope beckoned it was interesting. After many hours, 
Three Eyes spoke. 

“Well,” he said, “I go back to the astral theory.” 

“And I believe now that my mistake lies in the composition 
of that brain. I see that I have not yet discovered all there 
is to know about the manufacture of mind.” 

“And you never will, for mind is the manifestation of the 
spirit within the body.” 

“You actually seem to believe that this body was inhabited 
by a wandering astral—who has now vacated it!” 

“I’m convinced of that. And I’m ready to declare that 
even a wandering astral is better than nothing. It certainly 
made this body seem more human.” 

“I won’t believe it!” exclaimed Hicks Jarou, vehemently. 
“To believe that would be to destroy all my hopes of starting 
a new race.” 

“No, no!’ protested Three Eyes; “you may still look forward 
to a race physically perfect as a result of your research, even 
though you may be forced to admit that matter must be moved 
by spirit. I believe another astral will take possession and the 
body will move again. Should that happen, I mean to question 
it very carefully.” 

Hicks Jarou grudgingly admitted that Three Eyes might be 
right, and that was nearer an admission that he himself might 
be wrong, than he had ever before made. 


HICKS JAROU 


129 


When assured of the well being of the body the scientist 
retired—but not to sleep. His brain seemed to be in a whirl. 
What if Runjeet Singh were right in his spiritualistic theory? 
He knew that there had been a time when it was almost uni¬ 
versal belief—in the dark days before the scientist disputed 
the silly notion—that the soul enjoyed life everlasting. The 
world was less sure of that now, thanks to the scientist; but 
—had the scientist been wrong? Was there a life after death? 
A place where souls could meet? If so, and some day his 
soul were to meet that of Beatrice in this other world that 
people talked about, what would she say to his present plans 
for her? She trusted him. He believed she would be guided 
by him. To be coolly set aside as the mother of a new race 
which was to spring from an incubator made of asbestos— 
would she approve of that? Evidently, she would not. She 
had refused to marry the king! Very few girls would have 
the courage and independence to refuse a king anything. But 
Beatrice was in a class by herself. She had refused the hand 
of a king! Refused the hand of a king! The words sang 
themselves over and over again in his brain, and a most dis¬ 
concerting current of warm blood coursed through’his being, 
confusing his mind and distracting his attention. 

“The human heart-flutter!” he suddenly exclaimed. “I felt 
it. It acted independently of my brain. It was a pleasant 
sensation.” 

For the first time he wavered. Perhaps he had been wrong. 
He had manufactured many hearts that beat rythmically; but 
they never fluttered and then resumed their rythm; instead, 
they stopped beating after a preliminary flutter, because there 
was something wrong with their mechanism. Was there some¬ 
thing about the human heart he had not yet learned? His 
deductions might not have been quite right—but no! he simply 
could not believe that. They were right. Of course they 
were right. They could not be wrong, and yet—” 


130 


HICKS JAROU 


“I will not think along that line,” he exclaimed—quite vio¬ 
lently interrupting his new and disconcerting line of thought. 
“My work proves that I have been right. I know that the 
heart is a partially ossified muscle designed to pump blood 
through the body—that, and nothing more.” 

Then he began to whip his brain into obedience to his will, 
and never once thought to ask himself what it was that took 
command, and how the thing called Will first came into being. 

“Nothing can interrupt my work,” he chanted, “nothing, 
nothing, nothing. I am wedded to biology. I am the greatest 
scientist in the world. Nothing shall come between me and 
my life work.” 

But sleep wouldn’t come. This was his problem: To assume 
that the heart could feel a sensation, not brought about by the 
will, or by some derangement of the system, and to further 
assume that said sensation could be communicated to some other 
heart—why, where would such conclusions lead. To admit 
that was to admit that the heart possessed the power of choice. 
Not only that, but the power to make the choice known! Worse 
than that, the power to declare against a wise selection—perhaps 
the power to compel response in another heart! It was un¬ 
thinkable ! 

“Come, come!” he said to himself, “this will never do. Some 
malign planetary influence must be mixing its magnetism with 
mine.” And he forced himself to focus his attention upon 
the great biological experiment that he believed would forever 
upset the accepted tenets of civilization. He decided to go 
back to his laboratory where he had that heart in pickle, and 
study it until he had learned its secret. He would dissect it 
and assure himself beyond the shadow of doubt that it contained 
no brain matter. 

“And if I find brain matter,” he concluded, “I will mold 
it to my purpose. Nothing shall stand between me and my work. 
Life has nothing to offer that can possibly equal the joy of 
scientific research. And when the world knows of my accom- 


HICKS JAROU 131 

plishment, when I am recognized as the greatest scientist that 
ever lived—” 

Hicks Jarou worked an hour or two in his laboratory, and 
returned to his room convinced that the human heart contained 
no brain matter. It could not think. It could not act on any 
other heart. It was simply a bit of partially ossified muscle— 
just as he had decided years ago. His mind was at rest, and 
he quickly dropped into slumber, after deciding to give careful 
thought on the morrow to the structure and the tissue of the 
endocrines. 


CHAPTER X. 


Hicks Jarou awoke early, dressed with his usual scrup¬ 
ulous care, breakfasted on an assortment of little cubes con¬ 
taining compounds for the repair and upkeep of the human 
frame; then called Three Eyes and they went, together, to 
inspect the occupant of the incubator. They found the body 
yawning and stretching quite naturally as it had been doing in 
its bed every morning for the past month. 

“Ah, ha!” exclaimed Hicks Jarou with exultation, “now 
see who’s right! Didn’t I tell you it would be working as usual 
when we had fixed it?” 

“It certainly looks as if the interstitial had been faulty,” ad¬ 
mitted Runjeet, somewhat grudgingly. 

“No doubt about it,” interrupted Hicks Jarou impatiently. 
“Last night I corrected the formula for the chemicals used in 
the hormones—and also applied a unilateral vasoligature,—and 
I don’t see how we could ask for better proof of my theory.” 

“Let’s take the patient out,” said Runjeet, who believed 
there was nothing to be gained by emphasizing the old adage 
concerning the man who is convinced against his will; but he 
certainly held to his own opinion that the manufactured body 
could not move—would never move without the help of some 
living entity. The two men hastily opened up the incubator, 
pulled out the body and carried it to a chair. 

“Hand me a Mother Hubbard,” demanded the body, “quick! 
quick, I tell you—and don’t look at me until I get into it.” 

The voice was that of a woman. The mannerisms of a 
woman were all too evident. She put her hands to her head 
as if to fix her hair. “Who cut my hair?” she demanded, 
shrilly. “Who dared do that! Why was it done. I’m not 
one of the bobbed-hair class. Why didn’t you ask my permis¬ 
sion? Give me my hat. Say,” as a new thought struck her. 


132 


HICKS JAROU 


133 


“why are you men here anyhow ? Who undressed me and put 
me in that box? I’ll have you know I’m a respectable woman. 
Are you doctors ? Think I’m sick ? Then where’s the nurse ?” 

Hicks Jarou looked as if turned to stone. He could not 
speak or move, but dropped helplessly into a convenient chair. 
Three Eyes brought out an elegant dressing gown that had 
been made for Omar-Kouli, and handed it to the body, that was 
standing crouched over to hide at least a portion of its nudity. 

“This looks as if it had been made for a man,” she objected, 
“but it will do until I get my own clothes.” A moment, and 
then came a piercing shriek. 

“My God!” exclaimed the voice as the body stood up to don 
the garment, “this is a man’s body! What have you done to me ? 
I’m not a man!” 

“This is an excellent body, well made and in good repair,” 
said Three Eyes firmly. 

“I don’t care how good it is,” said, the voice; “what do I 
want of a man’s body! I’m a prima donna. Oh, God, strike 
these two fiends dead! They’ve been practicing on me. I’ve 
been Steinached! My life is ruined.” 

The body threw itself on a convenient couch where it writhed 
and twisted, moaned and screamed, bit its own flesh and tore its 
hair in the most beautiful hysterical attack a doctor could 
possibly wish to study. 

“What can we do with the damned fool!” asked Three Eyes, 
in a tone of supreme disgust. 

“Get a big dose of asafetida,” ordered Hicks Jarou, who had 
recovered from his momentary attack of paralysis, and now 
spoke with the authority of the physician of long practice. 
“I’ll hold its mouth open; you pour in the asafetida.” 

But the patient was sitting up, both hands firmly held over 
its mouth, a malignant gleam in its flashing eyes. 

“You let me alone,” it said sullenly. “Haven’t you done 
enough without adding insult to injury? Give me my clothes. 


134 HICKS JAROU 

I’m going straight out to find a policeman. I’m going to have you 
both arrested.” 

“Please listen to reason,” began Three Eyes, patiently. 

“I won’t do it,” shrieked the body. “I never have, and I’m 
not going to begin now. Didn’t I tell you that I’m a prima 
donna ?” 

“Silence!” commanded Hicks Jarou in a tone that was not 
to be ignored. “You are a body—my body—I made you—” 

“The poor thing!” exclaimed the body, exchanging glances 
with Three Eyes. “He thinks he’s God, doesn’t he ? How long 
has he been this way ?” 

“Never mind him for a moment,” replied Three Eyes. 
“Think about your past! What is the last thing you can recall.” 

The body thought a moment, then drew in its breath sharply. 
“Why,” it exclaimed, “I heard them saying I was almost gone.” 

“That’s it,” he replied gently. “You had been very sick—” 

“No, I hadn’t been sick at all. I was in an automobile 
accident.” 

“Oh, yes, you were badly injured. They said you couldn’t 
live—” 

“I didn’t live,” interrupted the body with sudden conviction, 
“and I wasn’t ready to die.” 

“And then you were told you could have another chance—” 

“Oh,” sobbed the body, “I was cruelly misled. “Why didn’t 
they tell me the truth! They knew I was a prima donna.” 

“That is what you were,” said Three Eyes, “but you left 
that work behind, with your other body. Now why not try 
something different?” 

“I’m a lyric soprano. What sort of a reception would I 
get—a man dressed up in a woman’s clothes!” 

“You’d be a whirlwind,” replied Three Eyes with conviction. 
“You’d be just what people of today are looking for.” 

“I was told I’d be treated like a queen. I was told I’d be 
seated on a throne. I’ve been cheated. I won’t stand for it. 
I won’t stay.” 


HICKS JAROU 


135 


“For Heaven’s sake, go!” Hicks Jarou was the speaker. He 
spoke with violence. “Go, I tell you!” His strength had 
returned to him, and for a moment he looked as if he could 
gladly squeeze the life out of the priceless mechanism upon 
which he had toiled so patiently for years. 

“Do you want me to open the door for It?” asked Three 
Eyes. “Think a minute, dear Master. Just what have you 
ordered to go—the body or the soul?” 

“Shut your confounded mouth,” ordered the overwrought, 
perplexed and unhappy scientist, who suddenly realized that 
his command meant the admission of the truth of a doctrine 
that he had, as yet, no intention of recognizing. 

“I’m going,” replied the body; “you may bet your sweet life 
on that.” 

“How did you happen to come?” asked Three Eyes. 

“A mean old astral—Oh, but he shall suffer for this!” 
The voice was more and more like that of a woman. In fact, 
it become more feminine every minute, and so did the lines 
of the face. “It is all clear now,” she added. “They played 
a joke on me ! When I go back I’ll make it my business to hunt 
up your former tenant, and then, mark my words, there’ll be 
something doing in purgatory.” 

With this final threat, the body suddenly fell back into 
the chair. Three Eyes shook it, but the head dropped to one 
side and the eyes were set. Three Eyes looked at Hicks Jarou, 
and a long conversation could not have divulged more. Without 
exchanging a word, the men returned the body to the incubator. 
Three Eyes attended to the various regulators, while his master 
looked on with weary eyes. 

Hicks Jarou was completely discouraged. Worse, he felt 
all at sea. He had lost his bearings. His world had become 
chaos. He now realized that he was in for a complete revision 
of his oldest and best loved theories, and it would be like tearing 
him from his foundations. He foresaw a day when he must 
publicly accept some theories, regarding spirit and its influence 


136 


HICKS JAROU 


upon matter, that he had publicly condemned for years as abso¬ 
lutely impossible and unthinkable to the educated mind. 

Runjeet Singh realized, sympathized, understood, and never 
once even looked the “didn't I tell you so?” that, being human, 
he must have felt. 

The next day Hicks Jarou sat at his desk, with several news¬ 
paper reporters before him, but instead of being interviewed, 
he was himself interviewing the reporters, although they did 
not know that. Royalton had given a magnificent entertainment 
the previous evening, in honor of King Omar-Kouli—and the 
king had not been present. Hicks Jarou was learning what 
had been said about his absence. 

“The fact is,” said Hicks Jarou, quite confidentially, “King 
Omar-Kouli was called away most unexpectedly—” 

“You don’t mean to say the king has gone! Already!” 

“Unfortunately, yes. The matter was very urgent—” 

“At least he might have allowed his friends to go to the station 
with him.” 

“He used my airplane. He was worried. There is some sort 
of uprising among his people. It may be that they do not like 
the idea of a foreign queen. Anyhow he is gone.” 

“Won’t he return ?” 

“I hope so. Of course that will depend upon how serious the 
trouble is, how quickly the uprising can be checked.” 

“Also,” added the reporters, chuckling, “how strong is the 
attraction left back here in Royalton ?” 

“Exactly,” replied Hicks Jarou, drily, as, he bowed his 
visitors out. “Now,” he said when alone with Runjeet Singh, 
“we’ve got to get that body on the operating table and loosen 
up that vasoligature—” 

“Do you still think the vasoligature had anything to do with 
this manifestation?” asked Runjeet. 

“You surely cannot have forgotten,” replied Hicks Jarou, 
“that the interstitial gland establishes psycho-physical balance, 
and determines the masculine or feminine characteristics of 


HICKS JAROU 


137 


the individual. Now, if I’m finally forced to admit that there’s 
something in your belief in disembodied life, why is it not 
reasonable to suppose that our work on the interstitial served 
to attract a female entity to this body?” 

“That sounds reasonable,” agreed Runjeet Singh. 

“Well, then, let’s undo all that we did last evening.” 

“All right. We certainly don’t want another female prancing 
that body all over the house.” 

A half hour on the operating table served to restore the 
manufactured body to its former condition. It was then de¬ 
posited in the incubator, and the two men retired to Hicks 
Jarou’s study where they could give their best thoughts to 
the social exigencies that were soon to confront them. 

Jarou told of his interview with the reporters, and added 
that he’d written a notice of the king’s sudden departure and 
sent it to Franklin Potter with instructions to play it up well 
in The Royalton Star. 

“But the airplane?” asked Runjeet Singh; “isn’t it in its 
hangar ?” 

“No, the pilot took it away before daybreak. I think every 
emergency of that nature has been prepared for; now we have 
the more serious problem of what is to become of the body.” 

“You can always bury it, you know.” 

“Destroy the work of a lifetime! Are you crazy?” 

“Then what did you mean by ‘what is to become of the 
body?”’ 

“If, as you think, it is animated by independent entities, 
how are we to govern it?” 

“We can’t—not entirely. No man governs the life of his 
own child, except to a limited extent. You’ve got to do as the 
parent does—just hope for the best.” 

“But the new race!” moaned Hicks Jarou. “Do you forget 
my dreams of a new race?” 


138 


HICKS JAROU 


“Can’t you be satisfied with this wonderful thing you have 
already accomplished? Should the body you have manufac¬ 
tured become a father—” 

“If, as you say, it could not do so without being governed 
by an entity that I know nothing about—Oh, can’t you see that 
my work remains a mere machine?” 

“A very wonderful machine.” 

“But that is not enough! It is not enough! If there is 
something greater than my handiwork, and I cannot capture it, 
then what is my work worth ? My life would be wasted—worse 
than wasted, I can not have it so. I will not agree with you. 
I’ll cling to the idea that resulted in—what was that ?” 

A sound of pounding—a muffled bang, bang, could be heard 
overhead. 

“The incubator,” gasped Runjeet Singh, and both men raced 
to the room they had so recently left. 

“The gods be praised,” said Runjeet Singh, devoutly, “the 
body has another tenant!” 

As they entered the room, they saw at a glance that the 
incubator was nearly wrecked at the hands of the body, which 
was making desperate attemps to free itself from imprisonment. 

“Geewhillikens!” exclaimed a manly voice, as the body stepped 
from the incubator without assistance, “what a stiff old carcass 
this is!” and he vigorously worked arms and legs in an effort 
to make them limber. 

“The former inmate pronounced it well made,” Runjeet Singh 
urged ingratiatingly. 

“I know he did—but it weighs on me like lead! And how the 
old lady did hate it!” The body laughed at the mirth-provoking 
memory. 

“Oh, you saw her?” Runjeet asked politely. 

“Yes. She has a rotten temper. As it happens, I had known 
her before we both checked out. Tried to make us believe she 
was twenty years younger than she really was. We knew she 
wouldn’t stay long in this body—but just a little joke we played 


HICKS JAROU 


139 


on her—wanted to get her reaction, you know. Well, we got it, 
all right, all right,” and the body convulsed itself in a prolonged 
fit of hearty laughter. 

“I’d like to suggest,” said Runjeet Singh, “that if you have 
not taken possession of this body with the intention of 
remaining—” 

“Don’t worry, old Scarecrow. I’ll stay if I like it, and if I 
don’t I’ll go. What do you know about that, darling boy,” 
turning to Jarou, “and what do you think you can do about it?” 

Hicks Jarou’s face was stern, but he said not a word. He 
couldn’t have spoken at that moment, had he tried, and he would 
not if he could. His mind had received this last bewildering 
shock like a horse that has been whipped nearly to death. 
Runjeet Singh, being psychic, was more adjustable. 

“Well,” continued the body, “I suppose I had better get used 
to this stiff old shell as soon as possible.” And he moved about 
the room with some of the ludicrous caution of a very tipsy 
man. “Isn’t this the limit! It actually makes me seasick.” 

“You are doing nicely,” replied Runjeet Singh, who wished 
to encourage him. “Just keep trying. Don’t hold your legs 
quite so far apart. There! That’s better. I suppose,” he added, 
“that you are a suicide ?” 

“Sure thing!” replied the body. “Otherwise I shouldn’t be 
here. You know I have to hang around this old planet until 
the years originally called for in my horoscope have been lived 
out.” 

“I imagined that might be the case,” said Runjeet Singh. 
“If I hadn’t believed that a suicide can’t get far away from 
his birthplace, I’d have killed myself years ago!” 

“What for?” asked the new king, curious to learn why anyone 
else would be foolish enough to evacuate his earthly envelope. 
Stopping in his wobbly race about the room he faced Runjeet 
Singh for reply. 

“Can you imagine, in this age, what life is to a man with 
three eyes ?” 


140 


HICKS JAROU 


“Better endure it,” advised the body. “Had I liked what 
I let myself in for when I committed suicide, do you think I’d 
again be trying for earth life in this old carcass? Lord! I’d 
forgotten how heavy a body is.” 

“May I ask why and how you committed suicide?” 

“Sure. The girl I fancied married another man, and I 
drowned myself.” 

“How many years have you yet to spend on earth?” 

“Ten years and two months. This time I’m going to make 
good. Say, the other fellow told me I was to be king; how 
about it ?” 

“That’s right, isn’t it?” And Runjeet Singh turned to Hicks 
Jarou for confirmation. 

Wearily and without enthusiasm, Hicks Jarou replied that 
he supposed the body was still that of a king. 

“Gee, but that king racket is a bully idea! And believe 
me, I’ll play the part to the queen’s taste.” The body again 
started its uncertain walk, but it was more ludicrous than before, 
because this efifort was intended to illustrate the dignified manner 
the new occupant would assume when he was introduced as king. 

“My friend,” with an exaggerated bow, he stopped before 
Runjeet Singh, “my friend, when I was upon this earth before, 
I was an idolized matinee hero. H-m-m! Get that? A hero 
and then a matinee idol! Appreciate that?—now I’m a king. 
Some combination! Believe me, darling boy, some combination! 
Say, old top—” and he faced the grey-faced scientist, “can 
you see the lady refusing my hand—yes—no? Not on your 
life, she won’t. I never yet saw a skirt with strength of mind 
sufficient to do that. I’m a regular little lady killer! Now, 
when may I see my queen!” 

“He will have to spend some days in retirement,” said Hicks 
Jarou to Runjeet Singh, quite as impersonally as if the body 
still reposed, inanimate, in the incubator. 

“Why will I ?” demanded the new king. “I have no desire to 
spend any time at all in retirement.” 


HICKS JAROU 


141 


“You have much to learn,” exclaimed Runjeet Singh. 

“I didn’t come here to study. I was told I should have 
the time of my life, and I am here to have it. I want to see 
what’s—her—name—the girl I’m supposed to marry; although 
I think I shall prefer the gay widow.” 

“The gay widow!” Hicks Jarou turned an inquiring eye 
toward Runjeet Singh. “Of whom is he speaking?” 

“He means Mrs. Somers, I presume.” 

“He seems to have completely forgotten names,” said Hicks 
Jarou. Some memory cell has broken down. Let’s get him on 
the operating table and see if we can locate it.” 

“Poppycock!” jeered the king; “I haven’t been told their 
names, that’s the only trouble. I haven’t forgotten anything. 
You let my memory cells alone.” 

“The pituitary gland,” murmured Hicks Jarou, nodding his 
head as if the solution to his problem had just occurred to him. 
“Strange that I neglected what I meant to do to that.” 

“And you let my glands alone, also,” thundered the body. 
“Don’t you know that possession is nine points in the law? I’ll 
have you understand that while I stay in this body it’s mine, 
and there’ll be no monkeying with it without my consent.” He 
spoke as one having authority, and it became evident even to 
Jarou, that great tact would be required in his management. 

“If we work together,” said Runjeet Singh, pacifically, “we 
ought to be of great value to the scientific world.” 

“Scientific nothing! I’m here to have a bully good time. 
Let’s get busy. I want to get going.” 

“Surely you can understand,” continued Runjeet Singh, “that 
you must become conversant with all your successor knew—all 
he said and did—before you can enter into the social life of 
Royalton.” 

“That sounds reasonable. Well, suppose you begin the 
posting process. It won’t take me long to get the hang of 
things.” 


142 


HICKS JAROU 


‘‘To begin,” said Runjeet Singh, “the newspapers are about 
to tell the world that you left for Tyrsanghee last evening. 
There has been an uprising among your people—” 

“How soon am I expected back?” 

“You couldn’t get there and back in less than a month.” 

“I won’t stand for that. I’m here now. You tell the news¬ 
papers I hadn’t gone far before I received a radio assuring me 
that my people had straightened themselves out without my 
assistance.” 

“I suppose that might be done,” said Runjeet Singh to 
Hicks Jarou. 

“Perhaps,” replied the scientist, who looked as if he no longer 
cared what was done, “but I don’t see that it is necessary.” 

“Of course it is necessary,” interrupted the impatient king, 
“and equally of course, it can be done. Get busy. Do it. The 
sooner the better. Then you can say the excitement and anxiety 
were too much for me. I can pretend to be sick for a few days 
while I’m getting on to the ropes.” 

“Not a bad idea,” conceded Runjeet Singh. 

“A damned good idea, I’d call it,” exclaimed the king. “I’m 
full up with bully ideas. You’ll find I’m a live wire—very 
different from the solemn old duck who got here first.” 

“Heaven help us!” groaned Hicks Jarou; he’ll never be 
accepted as King Omar-Kouli.” 

“Why not tell the truth about me?” suggested the king. “I’m 
not ashamed of my record—before I committed suicide.” 

“What do you mean—tell the truth about you!” demanded 
Hicks Jarou. 

“Why, just say that the other fellow decamped and I took 
his place. And we’ll tell them exactly—” 

“We’ll do nothing of the sort,” interrupted Hicks Jarou. 

“What’s to hinder me from telling what I please?” 

“No one would believe your story,” replied Hicks Jarou, 
contemptuously. 


HICKS JAROU 


143 


“Don’t be too sure. I’m mighty convincing when I get started. 
Believe me, I’d make their eyes bulge. I’d startle them right 
out of the comfy old rut where they’ve been napping; but 
they’d like me!—you may take it from me, they are bound to 
like me.” 

“They’d call you insane. They’d shut you up in an asylum.” 

“For telling the truth! I guess not.” 

“Many men have died for truth,” said Hicks Jarou. 

“That’s a fact,” mused the king, “and they’re still doing it.” 

“You don’t want to be imprisoned,” urged Runjeet Singh, 
“nor do you want to leave the body until you’ve had the ex¬ 
perience you came back here to get.” 

“No,” admitted the king, “I’m crazy about your king stunt. 
Nor do I want to lose out with Miss What’s-her-name, the 
heroine. That wouldn’t suit me at all if, as I understand, the 
cash goes with her. We’ll have to cook up some other plan. 
Say, Runny, why not give me a lesson, now? Hicksey, we can 
get along all right without you. Why not go rest your face? 
You look all in. Trot along to your room, old top.” 

Hicks Jarou hesitated—he looked mutinous but decided that 
he really was not helping matters much by remaining, and that 
more was to be gained by getting away by himself where he 
could study this new problem, and decide how best to manage 
his unruly creation. 

As soon as they were alone, the king sidled up to Runjeet 
Singh, and gave him a playful jab in his stomach with an elbow 
having a delivery like the hind leg of a fractious mule. 

“Now, Runny,” he said jovially, “tell me about the widow.” 

“The widow?” repeated Runjeet Singh, in amazement; “don’t 
you mean your future queen?” 

“No, the widow; she’s the one that interests me . She’s jolly, 
I take it.” 

“You are not to be interested in anyone but Miss Willis,” 
warned Runjeet Singh. 


144 HICKS JAROU 

“Why not? The widow isn’t too old to start a new race, 
is she ?” 

“Beatrice Willis is as near a perfect type of womanhood, physi¬ 
cally,—yes in every way, as one can find. She is of the type 
to make a wonderful mother.” 

“But man alive, can’t a king have a playmate as well as a 
wife?” 

“Miss Willis would never permit that.” 

“She wouldn’t know about it. I know how to be discreet.” 

“Hicks Jarou would not permit it. There’ll never be any 
discourtesy shown Miss Willis while he lives.” 

“Yet he would not marry her himself?” 

“He is a scientist. Scientific research is all he cares for.” 

“He is a fool. Say, Runny, where’s my purse? Is old 
Hicksey pretty liberal?” 

“Your predecessor thought it more dignified to let his servants 
pay his bills.” 

“I’m not that kind of monarch. I’ll want a lot of money, 
and I don’t want any retainers—except of course on state occa¬ 
sions. I do not intend to be spied upon, or led about like a child. 
Democratic. That’s the idea. I’m a democratic monarch.” 

“But don’t you see you can’t be too different from your 
predecessor!” 

“Many sided. That’s another good word. Dual character. 
I’ll make use of that.’ He spread his fingers and studied them 
curiously. “A very good hand for the purpose,” he said. “I’ll 
prove that my hand shows me to be pliability personified. 
Yesterday, they saw one phase of my nature; today they see 
another. Tomorrow is to be looked forward to with curiosity 
and expectation. Get it?” He slapped his thigh and chuckled. 
“I’ll tell the cock-eyed world that’s one peach of a plan,” he 
exclaimed. “It allows for every contingency. And now I’ll 
go to bed, but not in that damned incubator! I want to get 
between the sheets of a real bed.” 


HICKS JAROU 145 

He insisted that Runjeet Singh give him a massage, or else 
send for an osteopath. 

“I can attend to you,” replied Runjeet Singh. 

“Put on plenty of hot oil,” he instructed, “and manipulate 
the joints as if your life depended upon your getting them to 
work without friction. I don’t want to go about like a jumping 
jack.” 

Finally Runjeet Singh left him, and he turned the key in 
his door. He did it promptly, and so vigorously that his keeper 
couldn’t help hearing him. “Good night, valet,” he called gaily 
through the key hole. Runjeet Singh grinned. “If you’ve got 
a pass key don’t you dare use it.” 

Hicks Jarou and Runjeet Singh went to work in the labora¬ 
tory. They meant to check up their findings on the glands, 
and they expected to work all night. They were deeply in¬ 
terested. Even had they not been so busy, however, they 
might not have heard the king unlock his door and glide 
softly down the staircase and out into the yard. It hadn’t 
occurred to them that he would do a thing like that. 

The king had succeeded in learning the name and address 
of the “gay widow,” and he saw no reason why he should not 
call upon her. It was late, but if she had gone to the theater 
or to Z party—in that event he might be lucky enough to see her 
for a few moments before she retired. He ran across a news¬ 
boy who escorted him to her door. The boy did not recognize 
him, and had no idea of the great honor conferred upon him. 
He was dismissed when they reached her house. 

As the king had hoped, Mrs. Somers was just returning 
from the theater. She left her car and ascended the steps of 
her home. The king was comfortably seated on one of the 
porch chairs, and the light shone full upon him. 

“For the love of Mike!” she exclaimed; “how came you 
here!” 

“Perhaps the heart of King Omar-Kouli had something to 
do with it,” he replied in his courtliest manner. 


146 


HICKS JAROU 


“But why are you here—at this time of night!” It is safe 
to say that she had never been more astonished in her life— 
and if for the moment she failed in politeness and hospitality, 
surely she had sufficient excuse. 

“Why am I here? Because there is no place where I had 
rather be. Aren't you going to ask me in and give me a cup of 
tea ?” 

“Of course; but tell me, how does it happen that you are 
not on your way to Tyrsanghee—as the papers said?” 

“The editors didn’t know what they were talking about. 
Fact is, I ran away and my host didn’t want it known—” 

“Doesn’t Hicks Jarou know where you are?” 

“You bet he doesn’t. You see, I wanted to find out a few 
things for myself. So I ran away—and here I am. Now do 
be good and say you’re tickled stiff to see me.” 

“Tickled stiff! what an expression—from you.” 

“Does tickled pink suit you better? I love your slang, 
and I mean to introduce it into my own country. But I may 
not always get it right. Don’t hesitate to correct me when 
I’m wrong.” 

Mrs. Somers giggled. “Can’t Hicks Jarou help you with 
your slang?” she asked wickedly. 

“Hicks Jarou! Do you know I’m getting fed up on that 
old cockalorum.” 

“Fed up?” 

“He thinks he knows everything. Haven’t you noticed it? 
And the fact is, he doesn’t know anything that is really worth 
knowing.” 

“He is considered a very great scientist,” replied Mrs. Somers, 
coldly, “and he is your host.” 

“He gets on my nerves.” 

“Royalton is very proud of Hicks Jarou.” 

“Alle samee, girlie, Hicksy isn’t quite sane.” 

“Neither are you,” thought Mrs. Somers, who was getting 
rather nervous. She realized that there was something very 


HICKS JAROU 


147 


wrong with the king, and she was trying to think how best to 
meet the situation. He had risen and was going towards her 
door. She could not keep him sitting on her porch any longer, 
yet she dreaded to invite him into the house. She was frightened. 
She decided that she must keep him at her home until someone 
came to take him away—and if she did not go into the house 
she could not telephone Hicks Jarou where the king might 
be found. 

“Hicks Jarou not quite sane?” she repeated vaguely. “Oh 
come now, you’re joking. Of course he is sane.” 

“He is not quite sane, and I can prove it—but not out here. 
I am hoping you will invite me in.” 

“I do invite you in,” she opened the door and led the way 
to her reception room. 

“Now make yourself comfy,” she said, “while I see about tea.” 

“Tea!” he repeated reproachfully; “is that the best you can 
do for me?” 

“What would you like?” 

“Champagne! Quarts and quarts of champagne. It is so 
long since I’ve had any.” 

“It is rather late—but just wait while I telephone the butler. 
He may be able to get some for you.” 

“Good! Here’s hoping that my present palate has been 
properly educated.” 

Mrs. Somers telephoned Hicks Jarou and agreed to keep the 
king interested until he could arrive; then she hastened back 
to the room where she had left him sprawled in an easy chair. 
She found him dancing. His arms and legs moved like those 
of a jumping jack, and his serious countenance proved him to be 
quite oblivious of anything except the task at hand. 

“Oh, here you are,” he said brightly, as she returned. I was 
making good use of my time—as you saw. My joints work 
as if they needed sand-papering, but I’ll get them trained in 
time.” 


148 


HICKS JAROU 


“I thought you said you didn’t dance—that you hired slaves 
to do your dancing for you.” 

“Did I say that?” 

“You most certainly did.” 

“Well it wasn’t a bad excuse, was it ? Can’t you see I’m in 
need of practice?” 

“Oh, that’s it? I’m beginning to understand. You’re a many 
sided gentleman, I take it.” 

“Many sided is right. You wouldn’t believe, to see me now, 
that I was once a matinee idol.” 

“A matinee idol! You don’t mean it.” Mrs. Somers had 
decided that the only way to manage him was to humor him—and 
keep him talking. 

“Yes; but that was years ago — before I killed myself.” 

“Before you wha-a-at ?” 

“Killed myself. I was jilted once upon a time and killed 
myself. Why look so astonished ? I wasn’t the first young man 
who did that. I can’t remember just what year that was—and 
I don’t know where I was buried, but believe me that old body 
of mine was a darned sight easier to move about than this one 
is. It wasn’t as good looking, though; I must admit that. 
I’m going to make a mighty fine appearance when I’ve learned 
how to navigate. But say, girlie, you’re some looker yourself.” 

“It has taken you a long time to discover it,” replied Mrs. 
Somers, making a great effort to act at ease. She was really 
frightened now. It was her first experience with a mad-man. 
Would that old Jarou never come? 

“No, really, not so long. You don’t know it, but I’ve only 
just arrived. However, I had heard about you and that other 
girl—what’s her name? You know, the girl I’m supposed to 
marry ?” 

“Are you by any chance speaking of Beatrice Willis?” 

“Beatrice Willis! Yes, that’s the name; but I’m for you, 
fair lady, first, last, and all the time. If I have anything to say 
about it, you’ll be Queen of Tyrsanghee.” 


HICKS JAROU 


149 


“You overwhelm me!” 

“Then you consent ?” 

“Oh, you must give me time to think it over. Stand back; 
stand back! Don’t come any closer please; we’re not engaged 
yet.” 

“That champagne is a long time coming, seems to me.” 

“The service isn’t very good at this time of night. By the 
way, you were speaking of Hicks Jarou. Tell me why you talk 
against your host.” 

“Because I thought you ought to know that he is insane.” 

“What makes you think he is?” 

“Oh, I learned a lot about him before I moved in.” 

“Moved in?” 

“I forget. You wouldn’t understand about that.” 

“Perhaps not,” agreed Mrs. Somers. “Tell me why you 
think Mr. Jarou is not sane.” 

“Well, for one reason, you can’t convince him that the human 
body is not a husk.” 

“Do you want him to think that?” 

“Why not ? It’s the truth.” 

“Oh, come now; you don’t think so yourself.” 

“I know what I’m talking about. The real person lives in 
the body—moves it about—but does not depend upon it. I told 
Hicksey that—and he just laughed.” 

“And so you two good friends sometimes disagree just a 
little! How very interesting. I didn’t know there was anyone 
in the world who dared disagree with Hicks Jarou.” 

“There wasn’t until I came.” 

“How does he take it ?” 

“Philosophically—as he would. He says he likes to hear me 
express thoughts that go to prove that my brain is functioning 
independently and normally.” 

“What a queer thing to say.” 

“Isn’t it?” 


150 


HICKS JAROU 


“How does he dare say a thing like that to a king?” Mrs. 
Somers felt that she was getting to the end of her conversational 
resources. Would Hicks Jarou never come?” 

“How does he dare? Oh, he thinks he owns me. But he 
will soon learn his mistake. He says it pleases him when I say 
things that no one could possibly accuse him of suggesting. 
He then asks that three-eyed slave of his to notice that my 
brain has taken up independent action, which he claims is the 
final proof of a great biological fact. Wouldn’t that make 
you tired!” 

“Tired? Yes, I am rather tired,” replied Mrs. Somers 
vaguely, and the king realized that she had not been paying 
much attention to what he had been saying. 

“All right, I’ll toddle along,” he said cheerfully, and arose 
from his chair with difficulty. “Confound this rusty old frame,” 
he added petulantly. “One would think they might have kept 
it properly oiled if they expected anyone to drag it about!” 

“Don’t go yet,” pleaded Mrs. Somers, gently pushing him 
back into the chair; “I like to hear you talk. You are very 
interesting.” 

“Really ?” exclaimed the king, brightening at once. “I’m glad 
you’ve found it out. I’m a humdinger when I get started, but 
I need time to—what’s that ?” 

“I’m coming right in, Mrs. Somers,” said a voice at the door. 
“Where is he?” Then catching sight of the king, “Oh, there 
you are, my friend. Now you’d better come home with me.” 
He turned to Mrs. Somers again: “Has he given you much 
trouble?” He is having a bad attack of flu—it started in with 
delirium—but he seemed better this evening. We thought we 
had him comfortably tucked in for the night.” 

Hicks Jarou thanked her for her assistance, and the king 
realized that she had set a trap for him; that she had simply 
been allowing him to talk until his jailer arrived. It was a 
chastened king who seated himself in the limousine beside his 
captor. But he had no intention of acting as if he felt chastened. 


HICKS JAROU 


151 


‘‘Well,” he said, with a cheerful grin, “you win the first bout. 
She accepted your yarn about the delirium.” 

“She would have accepted it if I had said you had escaped 
from a lunatic asylum,” replied Hicks Jarou quietly. 

“Yep; I think she would. I can see that I must devote 
some time to intensive preparation. It will be a bore—but I’ve 
got to do it. And of course, when I put my mind to it, I can 
learn the ropes fast enough. I simply had not wished to take 
the trouble.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


There was excitement in Royalton when it was learned that 
King Omor-Kouli had not left the city, as had been reported, 
but was very sick with an attack of flu—and it was whispered 
about that there were complications that caused Hicks Jarou 
grave anxiety. The Royalton Star came out with an apology 
for having stated that the king had left the city, when that was 
not true. A careless reporter was blamed, and somebody was 
discharged. That made everything appear much clearer and 
more easily understood. 

Mrs. Somers had a beautiful time telling her friends of her 
“really frightful experience, don’t you know ? Why he actually 
appeared like a madman—and he said the strangest things! 
It would have made your blood run cold to hear him. When 
I think of it, I don’t know how I had the courage and the 
presence of mind to keep him talking as I did until Hicks 
Jarou arrived. And I did think that man would never come— 
never!” 

It was almost as exciting as a mystery story. It had hap¬ 
pened when the smart set of Royalton needed something new 
to talk about, and this served the purpose admirably. Every¬ 
one hoped that the king was suffering nothing worse than 
delirium. Loads of flowers were sent to the sick man—but 
he didn’t know that. He was being punished by being kept in 
his room. He was warned that if he didn’t stay there he 
would be locked in the incubator. He had retorted that he’d 
vacate the damned body at once if that happened, and was then 
informed that no one would care very much if he did. 

“Some one else will take possession, you know,” said Runjeet 
Singh, calmly; “and there is every chance that we’ll find some 
one who can play the part much better than you’ll ever be 


152 


HICKS JAROU 


153 


able to. You don’t strike me as a very well-balanced character, 
and your manners are atrocious. I can’t see you taking the 
part of king with any sort of success.” 

That nettled the king. “You don’t know what I can do,” 
he protested, “when I put my mind to it. Give me a chance.” 

“You can have a little time in which to prove your value,” 
replied Runjeet Singh, calmly. 

Hicks Jarou never took part in these conversations. He 
couldn’t. Such talk sounded too silly. After all that had 
happened he still believed that mind was a manifestation of 
the body. Why pretend anything else? But he had to admit 
that Runjeet Singh did understand better how to manage the 
body he had made than he did himself. 

“As it has turned out,” he said to Runjeet Singh, “that 
escapade was the best thing that could have happened. Now 
we need not trouble ourselves to invent explanations, either 
for his absence or for any oddity in his behavior that may be 
noticed. The pretended illness will take care of all that.” 

“It has made him more pliable,” replied Runjeet Singh, 
“and it gives us time to train him. He has threatened to leave 
the body, but I don’t believe he’ll do it. He really wants to 
stay.” 

Hicks Jarou gave him a look that was not hard for Runjeet 
Singh to interpret, and left the room. 

Runjeet Singh shook his head despairingly. “Oh, these 
hard-boiled scientists,” he muttered; “how long it takes to con¬ 
vince them that the sixth sense is more valuable than all the 
others put together.” 

Alfred Burton was spending an idle hour with Mrs. Somers 
on her comfortable porch with its easy chairs that had never 
been designed for porch use. When she had to decide between 
comfort and style, she chose comfort every time, and so her 
home was a popular lounging place, and more especially popular 
with the men. Alfred was stretched out in the chair he liked 
best, and he had never looked lazier, or more at his ease, or 


154 


HICKS JAROU 


more carelessly indifferent to everything in life that ought to 
interest a young, strong, perfectly healthy man. He had been 
listening to Mrs. Somers’ story of her thrilling experience with 
King Omar-Kouli, which she had told many times, to many 
listeners, and which always gained a little in its slightly danger¬ 
ous episodes with each repetition. It was not difficult to 
picture the saturnine king, with his cave-man directness of 
speech, as a positive savage when too delirious to realize what 
he was saying or doing. It made her feel like a real movie 
heroine, gave her something like a thrill, and she was enjoying 
herself greatly. 

Alfred did not interrupt her, but listened with much more 
intentness than she realized. He was quite sure she was keep¬ 
ing something back that she thought would rob the story of 
some of its dramatic quality. And the truth is that all the 
time she was picturing her cave-man, she was wondering about 
the astonishing difference she had noticed in him, on the night 
in question, from the king they had all known. It was a differ¬ 
ence in degree—no, not so much in degree either! The man 
she had entertained was really not a cave-man; she couldn’t 
believe he had ever been one; he was actually much more 
like the matinee idol he had claimed to be. She couldn’t 
understand it. Which was the real man? Had the king been 
posing—trying to act as he thought her friends would expect 
a king of Tyrsanghee would act? If not—if he were really 
more society man than he had given them reason to suspect, 
then why play the savage, and especially when he sought to win 
a society girl for his wife? If he really came to them directly 
from Tyrsanghee as they had been led to believe, then where 
had he acquired certain mannerisms that he had displayed on 
that memorable evening—and had never before displayed? Mrs. 
Somers was recalling how gracefully he had assisted her to 
remove her wrap—how he had refrained from seating himself 
until she was comfortable—how he had raised her hand to his 
lips—many trifling incidents where he had carried himself 


HICKS JAROU 


155 


almost like a gallant of the days when women were treated with 
politeness—and always he had been easy, natural—acting with¬ 
out thought, as one does when good manners become a habit- 
And he had done this even when talking about something so 
astonishing and unbelievable as to raise doubts as to his sanity. 

When she had told her story in her own way, polishing the 
dull places and bolstering up the weak places as seemed nec¬ 
essary to make it properly effective, and had reached a natural 
breathing place, Alfred aroused himself from his seeming 
somnolence enough to ask a question and start her off again. 
These questions sometimes sounded actually insane; but one 
who had considered it worth while to study this society man— 
Nathan Hawkins, for instance—would have known that he was 
engaged in stripping away the brilliant conversation in order 
to get down to the facts in the case. 

“What was that he said about killing himself ?” 

“He really didn’t mention any particulars—just said in the 
most casual way imaginable that something had happened years 
ago before he killed himself—just like that.” 

“He probably imagined he was Nathan Hawkins. Nat often 
speaks of something that happened before he was killed.” 

Mrs. Somers was startled. “Alfred Burton,” she exclaimed, 
“you can’t imagine that King Omar-Kouli is another suicide 
brought back to life!” 

“I don’t really think so—but you never can tell. I never 
have thought so—but when you repeated what he said I sudden¬ 
ly thought of Nathan. Go on! Didn’t he say something else 
that we can fit into our picture puzzle?” 

“Why, come to think of it, he did say something about his 
joints being stiff—seems to me he said rusty—anyhow not 
in good working order.” 

“Nathan said his body was very stiff when he first began 
to use it after his accident. But it would be, naturally. I 
wonder if that wouldn’t fit the other pieces.” 

“Do you suppose the king was killed and buried and dug up ?” 


156 


HICKS JAROU 


“Might have been/ replied Alfred, “And that would account 
for his apparent dependence upon Hicks Jarou.” 

“He called Mr. Jarou, Hicksey.” Mrs. Somers laughed. 
“That struck me as one of the funniest things he did.” 

“Called him Hicksey, eh?” 

“Yes, and said Hicksey had yet to learn that he didn’t own 
him even though he might fancy he did.” 

“Did he use the word, own?” 

“Yes, I’m quite sure about that. And he spoke as if he 
and Mr. Jarou had had a quarrel about something—and then 
he said that he believed Hicksey wasn’t quite sane.” 

“Of course his own temporary insanity might have led him 
to say that. I’ve heard that when a person is mentally upset 
he is apt to go against his very best friends.” 

Mrs. Somers laughed. “You are a delightful audience,” she 
said—“the best I’ve had. But you are almost too serious— 
as if it really mattered what anyone says when delirious!” 

“All this may prove a help in giving us a correct estimate 
of the man. Sometimes one who is delirious will tell the truth 
like an innocent child.” 

“Truth!” Mrs. Somers was derisive. “Well, in this case 
he did not stick to the truth closely enough to be very illumin¬ 
ating. For instance, he tried to make me believe that he 
preferred me to Beatrice Willis, and said if he had his way I 
should be Queen of Tyrsangee.” 

“Um-m-m! That’s a word-for-word quotation, I take it?” 

“Absolutely. Wasn’t he absurd!” 

“Not so absurb as either you or Beatrice Willis would be if 
you contemplated marrying him.” 

“Alfred, I believe you are jealous! Who is responsible for 
that state of mind—Beatrice or me? And are you gathering 
data to drive your rival from the field? Do say yes, Alfred; 
it would be so thrilling.” 

“Listen, Evelyn. I belive there is something wrong about 
that king—something that would make any woman sorry if 


HICKS JAROU 


157 


she married him—and yet I have no proof to bolster up my 
suspicions. Have you forgotten the story I told of the man 
in my logging camp ?” 

“The crazy man?” 

“Yes.” 

“What has he to do with King Omar-Kouli ?” 

“That man was crazy because Hicks Jarou made him so.” 

“Nonsense! That's a dreadful thing to say, Alfred.” 

‘I know it is, but I firmly believe that man was crazy be¬ 
cause Hicks Jarou made him so—practicing on him—I don't 
know just what he did, of course—but I feel confident that 
it had something to do with hypnotism. I believe Hicks Jarou 
is a hypnotist. I believe that in some way, this man we know 
as King Omar-Kouli is under the thumb of Hicks Jarou.” 

“Well, I don't belive anything of the sort. I can’t. Don't 
you know that all men like Hicks Jarou who do wonderful 
things, are sure to make enemies who are glad to believe any¬ 
thing that may be said against them? You believe he brought 
Percy Southdown back to life, don't you?” 

“Yes. I am obliged to believe that, after listening to Nathan's 
story as I have. And yet I don’t forget for a moment that 
it might have been a case of suspended animation.” 

“Even so it was a very wonderful thing to do, wasn’t it?” 

“It certainly appears so.” 

“And he isn't hypnotizing Nathan?” 

“Nathan would never allow anything of the sort.” 

“At one time poor Nathan must have been as much under 
Mr. Jarou's influence as any man could be. He could have 
even made him believe as he made your old Old Plymouth Rock 
believe—and yet he didn't.” 

“That is true. I wish I didn’t dislike the man so much— 
and I also wish that I knew exactly why I dislike him at all. 
But I do, and because I do not trust him I cannot trust his 
guest—and I do not want anyone I care for to get too friendly 
with him.” 


158 


HICKS JAROU 


“That’s nice of you—but for Heaven’s sake don’t let your 
suspicions run away with you. Now, in spite of all you say, 
I admire Mr. Jarou very much. I am proud to think he recog¬ 
nized me—so great a scientist as he is. And I am interested in 
King Omar-Kouli. Of course he isn’t American, and he doesn’t 
act exactly as we do, or think as we do, either; but that doesn’t 
mean that he may not be much better worth knowing than any 
of us. I’m not saying that he is—but I believe we should give 
him the benefit of the doubt.” 

“And I had been hoping you would help me get a line on him.” 

“What had you been hoping I would do?” , 

“Well, for one thing, take him away from the others when¬ 
ever you can—” 

“Lovely!” 

“And let me know so I can join you—” 

‘A regular Buttinsky!” 

“We could study him to better advantage if we had him to 
ourselves—” 

“Oh, you don’t have to argue that point! I’m perfectly 
willing to lure the king—and of course if I have to invite 
you to act as chaperone—but not every time, Mister Man; 
don’t expect me to do that.” 

“But if I were not with you—and anything happened—” 

“What do you imagine could happen?” 

“For one thing, you might run away and marry him. You’d 
be quite equal to that sort of dare-devil folly.” 

“Thank you, sir! But if I were a queen, you’d not dare 
to talk to me like that.” 

“Even if he is a king, his kingdom couldn’t possibly be of 
any importance.” 

“Because you haven’t happened to hear of it? That may be 
because it hasn’t been drawn into any world wars—or got into 
any money scrapes with the countries you do happen to know 
about. But don’t you suppose there are many kingdoms which 


HICKS JAROU 159 

have not become notable—that may be happy and prosper¬ 
ous just the same?” 

“Perhaps. But if they are very prosperous the world gen¬ 
erally hears about them.” 

“Well, we know that Hicks Jarou is a very wealthy man. 
We do know that, don’t we?” 

“Yes, we know that. I heard a banker say he’d cash Hicks 
Jarou’s check for a million dollars without a moment’s hesita¬ 
tion.” 

“And Mr. Jarou said that the king was to be his heir.” 

“Men have been known to change their minds—make another 
will at the last moment.” 

“You just won’t be reasonable about it, will you? You have 
heard Franklin Potter say he was satisfied with the king’s 
genealogical record—and Franklin has proven himself right 
more than once.” 

“Whatever Potter has said in the king’s favor, he has never 
seemed to me to be the king’s friend.” 

“That may be. The king is his rival. No man can love a 
rival. Franklin believed he had a good chance to win Beatrice 
before the king appeafed.” 

While Alfred and Mrs. Somers were carrying on their 
amiable controversy, Franklin Potter sat alone in his hotel 
sitting room. He petulantly threw down The Royalton Star, 
in which he had been leading of the illness of King Omar-Kouli, 
and the hope held out that he would soon be able to see his 
friends again. He had written that item himself—at the dic¬ 
tation of Flicks Jarou—and he hated it. He had written 
the item telling of the king’s hasty departure for Tyrsangee, 
and then he had written the apology, and also the item telling 
of the discharge of the careless reporter. No reporter had 
been discharged. Every item he had written about the king 
had been dictated by Hicks Jarou. He did not understand the 
situation—but he believed there was something wrong, and 
that Beatrice Willis should not be allowed to marry the king. 


160 


HICKS JAROU 


If only he could get to the bottom of it all! If only he could 
persuade Beatrice to run away with him! He knew how angry 
that would make Hicks Jarou—but what could he do about it, 
once they were married? 

“What right have I,” he thought angrily, “to sit here like 
a bally totem pole and let her be married to a savage—or— 
to a hypnotized fraud. There’s no telling what the man’s 
past life has been; but I’m willing to bet all I’m worth that 
it hasn’t been straight.” 

Then he asked himself why he was willing to make such a 
bet—and crumpled. He did not believe in Omar-Kouli because 
he was endorsed by Hicks Jarou—yet what about himself? He 
had been warned against asking Beatrice to marry him—and 
he had not asked her. Why? Because he was afraid of Hicks 
Jarou! But now he felt courageous. He had been carefully 
saving a part of his salary—had quite a nice bank account of 
which his employer did not know. Suppose he did lose his 
job? He and Beatrice could get along on what he had until 
he found something else to do. But could he find anything 
else? Hicks Jarou had once let him understand how easily he 
could be discredited—and if he once became angry—as he 
would—he’d be a dangerous enemy! Oh, how muddled it all 
was! How he hated himself because of the love of easy living 
which had always stood between himself and real achievement. 
He hated himself, but he could not summon the courage to cut 
himself loose. How he envied Nathan Hawkins, and yet he 
knew that he would not care to be in Nathan’s place. To earn 
a bare living—to work all day and every day—to give up all the 
pleasures of social life—to have calloused hands and broken 
finger nails—to eat in the servant’s hall—to be ignored by all 
the dainty ladies who had once made much of him—no, he did 
not want to take Nathan’s place—much as he envied the man 
his independence. Nathan was afraid of no man. He was a 
slave to no man. He stayed with Hicks Jarou because he liked 
to work for him, but he could go when and where he pleased. 


HICKS JAROU 


161 


Hicks Jarou would be sorry to lose him, but he would know 
better than to try to keep him against his better judgment. 
Yet not so long ago, Nathan had been engaged to be married 
to Beatrice Willis, and Hicks Jarou had given him information 
about Southdown—no, Runjeet Singh had done that. Runjeet 
had helped him expose Lord Percy. Perhaps Hicks Jarou 
really had not known that he, Franklin, had meant to denounce 
Lord Percy Southdown. He had asked Runjeet Singh to help 
him because he had wanted to drive Percy out of town—but 
because Runjeet Singh had been very ready to help him, he had 
believed Hicks Jarou wanted it done—yet, if so, why had the 
man been rescued and made to live again? Why did Hicks 
Jarou appear to like him so well, now, that he’d work with him 
like another hired laborer ? It was all very puzzling. 

Finally Franklin decided to call upon Beatrice. There would 
be no harm in just sounding her out. If he should happen to 
find out that she liked him at all—if she gave him any encour¬ 
agement—certainly her mother had not discouraged him! She 
had given him to understand that she believed he might win 
her daughter, and had said it would be much more pleasing 
to her than to have Beatrice married to a man who would carry 
her ofiF to a savage island. Anyhow, there would be no harm 
in letting Beatrice know how he felt. He needn’t say anything 
definite—just yet. But if Beatrice liked him and if she thought 
she could manage on what he had—for a time—well, why not 
find out! He was sure he knew how to be discreet. 

So Franklin went to call upon Beatrice, and before he had 
been there five minutes she knew exactly what he had it in 
mind to say to her—although she flattered him by thinking 
that he really meant to propose immediate marriage. In less 
than ten minutes from the time of his arrival, she had frankly 
confided in him as she would in a dearly loved brother. She 
had confessed that she was desperately in love with another 
man, that she was not at all sure how the other man felt about 
it, but as for herself she was quite willing for that other man 


162 


HICKS JAROU 


to treat her as his slave if he felt so inclined. There was 
nothing she would not do to win him. She loved him so much 
that she just longed to give her life to save him from—well 
from whatever might endanger the life of a wonderful man. 
She raved as no one had ever before heard her rave. In fact 
there was none among her friends who would have believed 
that she could ever have held herself so cheaply as she professed 
to do while she talked to Franklin about her infatuation. 

Franklin could hardly belive his own ears. In the first 
place he had never really believed in love. He believed that 
people liked some people better than some other people—but 
to be willing to die for a loved one—that was all poppycock. 
It wasn’t done. Beatrice was hysterical. He must help her 
back to normalcy. 

“You really must not talk like that,” he said gravely. “You 
do yourself an injustice.” 

“I don’t see it,” she replied, earnestly. “You are old fashioned, 
Franklin. You don’t know anything about the modern girl. 
Girls of today believe in saying what they think. Now, I see 
no reason why I should not tell you that I’m in love—clear 
over my head in love. I’m using the language of love. I’m 
compelled to use it because I want advice. You are like a 
brother—and you are a man and ought to know how to help 
me. Here’s my problem. I am not at all sure that the man I 
love cares anything at all about me. I am sure that he does 
not love me, and I believe that is because he has not thought 
of me as a wife. Now how can I make him take notice?” 

Beatrice could hardly keep her face straight when she asked 
this question. It was not because she believed Franklin could 
help her solve what she called her problem—but because she 
hoped by taking the matter up so frankly with him, to ward off 
the proposal she believed he had come there to make. 

Franklin was embarrassed. “I think,” he said, “that there 
is only one kind of love that can not be sought like—like mer¬ 
chandise—and that is universal love—” 


HICKS JAROU 


163 


“That is not what I want,” interrupted Beatrice. “It is 
not what I am feeling either. Universal love doesn’t build 
individual homes with a father and a mother and a family! 
I want all that—and I don’t want to wait forever for it, because 
it should come while I am young. Of course if you can’t help 
me, I must ask someone else. There must be some man who 
can tell me how to interest the man with whom I am absolutely 
infatuated.” 

“Absolutely infatuated! Beatrice, you don’t mean anything 
of the sort. You are hysterical. What ails you? It isn’t at 
all like you to talk so—so recklessly.” 

“I suppose any girl becomes reckless when she is forced to 
experience the pangs of unrequited love. Some girls pine away 
and die; but I’m not like that. I’d rather put up a good stiff 
fight. I’m the kind who means to have what they want when 
they want it—or die trying to get it.” 

“Beatrice, won’t yon consider me—” 

“Don’t!”’ exclaimed Beatrice, holding up a warning hand; 
“don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it. It wouldn’t do, Franklin, 
honestly it wouldn’t. We know each other too well. We’re 
too much like brother and sister. Oh, I did hope you would 
understand without my saying it—but when I marry it will 
be to some man who just bristles with the unexpected.’ 

“I’m sure you do not know me as I really am. I, too, long 
for the unexpected—for romance—for a life as different from 
that I am living—” 

“You’ll never find it,” interrupted Beatrice, with conviction. 
“You couldn’t get out of your little rut if you tried, and you’d 
never really try. Oh, I know. I’ve been studying you. You 
know there was a time when I thought we might be married—” 

“Oh, Beatrice, did you ?” 

“Yes; but I saw it wouldn’t do. And then I told you never 
to come here again—” 

“I know, but your mother encouraged me to come.” 


164 


HICKS JAROU 


“You were not calling upon my mother, were you? Then 
why should you have listened to her and not to me?” 

“You were kind to me when I did come, and I hoped—” 

“But Franklin, what more could I have done! I couldn’t 
have kicked you out, could I ? I want you for a friend—a sort 
of big brother—but I never could be interested enough in you 
to marry you.” 

“Why don’t you care for me? I’d try to be anything—to do 
anything—” 

“No, you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. You are as you are. 
You are not a free man.” 

“Not a free man! What do you mean by that?” 

“I don’t know—but my intuition tells me you are not a free 
man. I believe that in some way you are under bonds to Hicks 
Jarou.” 

“You ought not to object to that. I’ve heard you say how 
much you admire him.” 

“I do admire him because he is a great man. But that does 
not mean that I’d want a husband who was influenced by him 
or any other great man. I like men who are absolutely inde¬ 
pendent. Do you know, I admire Nathan Hawkins a hundred 
times more than I did when he was calling himself Lord Percy 
Southdown. He wasn’t interesting then—but he is terribly 
interesting now.” 

“How do you know? Does he call on you?” 

“No, he won’t even accept an invitation. I’ve tried him out 
in every way I could—but he simply ignores me. He is so 
brutally independent that he is absolutely fascinating.” 

Is it to be wondered at that Franklin now felt pretty well 
convinced that Beatrice had not ceased to be in love with his 
old rival? Certainly she had done her best to create that im¬ 
pression. “Of course,” she added, “you are not to get the 
idea that King Omar-Kouli is entirely out of the running.” 

“King Omar-Kouli!” Franklin groaned. “Beatrice, you 
couldn’t do a thing like that, could you ?” 


HICKS JAROU 


165 


“Why not? He bristles with the unexpected—if any man 
ever did. And if the man I love never does care for me—why, 
I could marry King Omar-Kouli without feeling that I was 
doing him an injustice. He doesn't pretend that love will enter 
into the question, you know." 

“For God’s sake, forget that man!" 

“Not on your life. He is really romantic—’’ 

“Such a union would be damnable!" 

“Why how fierce you are!" Beatrice giggled. “I’ve never 
seen you like this. I didn’t know you could be so much alive." 

“Evidently your opinion of me has not been any too flatter¬ 
ing." said Franklin resentfully. “I have had a some-what 
unexpected eye-opener." 

“I did not want to hurt your feelings—but you simply would 
not take a hint. I’d like you for my friend—but if you refuse, 
then I don’t see why you should come here again—even to 
please mother." 

“Shall you say that sort of thing to Omar-Kouli—or to 
Nathan Hawkins—or to Alfred Burton—or any of the others 
who would like to marry you? Or am I in a class by myself? 
I do not believe Omar-Kouli is any more independent of Hicks 
Jarou than I am—and we know that Nathan Hawkins is merely 
his hired man." 

“Perhaps we’d better say goodby for the present," replied 
Beatrice coldly. 

“Very well. Allow me to say that I congratulate Alfred 
Burton," he added, as he took his hat and was opening the door. 
“I was silly not to have seen, when I first heard your interesting 
confession, that he was the only man who really fitted your 
description." Then he made his exit without giving her an 
opportunity to reply, and she stood where he had left her 
wondering if he would be spiteful enough to congratulate 
Alfred also. It had not occurred to her that the conversation 
might take that turn. 


166 


HICKS JAROU 


“A jealous man/’ she said, “is much smaller than a jealous 
woman. Next time I try to keep a man from making a 
declaration that he might wish unsaid,—well, next time, I’ll be 
a hundred and twenty years old.” 

She stood at the window watching him as he went slowly 
down the street. “I was a lot meaner to him than I needed 
to be,” she thought regretfully, “and I’ve always believed I could 
manage such a situation with dignity. He was more dignified 
than I was—and mother would like to have me marry him. 
I wonder what Hicks would say if I told him I was in love 
with Franklin? Would he be jealous? No, not jealous, darn 
him—he’d just push his horrid king to the front once more.” 

Franklin left the Willis home believing himself to be the 
most unhappy man in the world. He was exceedingly sorry 
for himself, and yet his nature was such that he could get more 
than a little comfort out of the situation. If he couldn’t be 
great in any other way it was some satisfaction to know that he 
was greatly abused. 

He had cared more for Beatrice than he had ever cared for 
anyone except himself. She was the only woman he had ever 
met whom he wanted to marry. And she had refused him. 
She had made her refusal very explicit. She had even told 
him of her love for another man, without a thought as to what 
that meant to him. She had not cared how cruelly she had 
wrung his heart. But there is no great loss without some small 
gain! Suppose he were here now on his way home—an 
engaged man—and facing the prospect of squaring himself 
with Hicks Jarou and Nathan Hawkins. Both these men had 
warned him that Beatrice was not for him, and both knew 
exactly how to make life a burden to him. 

Well, he had escaped all that. He was the most unhappy 
man in the world—but—the situation might be worse. 


CHAPTER XII. 


King Omar-Kouli had been making a terrible racket, and 
Runjeet Singh had gone to his room to try to quiet him. 

“I’ve been a prisoner long enough,” declared the king, “I 
have learned all I need to know. I’m ready to go out and enjoy 
myself.” 

“Very soon, now,” began Runjeet Singh, reassuringly— 

“Very soon nothing!” yelled the king. “If I’m not given 
my liberty at once I mean to kick up a racket that will make 
the entire police force come a-running.” 

“Why not carry out a former threat,” inquired Runjeet Singh, 
mildly; “why not leave the body ?” 

“Leave this body? Nothing doing!” The king had regained 
his cheerfulness. He had made himself heard. 

“But you said you’d leave,” urged Runjeet. 

“I’ve changed my mind about that, darling. I’ve decided to 
keep possession until I’m ready to leave; and listen, precious! 
I won’t leave one-half minute before I am ready. Now listen 
some more, Runny!” He took Runjeet by the shoulder and 
spoke earnestly into his ear. “Don’t get the idea, old pet, that 
you can force me out, because you can’t do it.” 

“Can’t we?” 

“No, you can’t.” 

“Think we’re trying to?’* 

“Sure of it. You see, I overheard Hicksey telling you he 
thought he’d try trepanning—” 

“That was not because he meant to force you out—” 

“Oh, no, because he has not yet acknowleged that I’m in—the 
poor, old, crazy materialist! You’re the one who thinks I can 
be forced out.” 

Runjeet grinned quite companionably. “It could be done,” 
he said, “but it wouldn’t be wise.” 


167 


168 


HICKS JAROU 


“Of course not,” replied the king, “if Hicksey’s work is to 
count for anything. What a queer old cove he is! He knows 
so much, and yet he knows so little.” 

“Yes,” acknowledged Runjeet, gravely. 

“I thought I’d laugh myself into a fit, last evening, when I 
heard him telling you he thought he might discover a vacant 
space in my brain cavity—or perhaps that he’d made a mistake 
in the composition of the brain stuff. Really, you know, this 
is a very decent body, taken as a whole. Now that I’ve learned 
how to use it, I like it immensely.” 

At this moment Hicks Jarou entered the room, a thoughtful 
frown on his handsome face. He had not seen his handiwork 
for two days, and was wondering what new problems it would 
present, and fully expecting there’d be something not looked for. 

“Hello, Hicksey,” said the king jovially; “why the furrowed 
brow? I give you my word that the protoplasm was O.K.— 
and you can see for yourself that the brain is functioning in a 
masterly manner. You got the proper reaction, and the expec¬ 
ted functioning started in at the time set, and in the manner 
hoped for. Now why not forget your worries, and let’s get 
down to business. When am I expected to marry Miss Willis ? 

“You will probably not be able to win her at all,” replied 
Hicks Jarou, coldly. He turned to Runjeet, ignoring the king 
except as a bit of mechanism. “Jove!” he exclaimed between 
set teeth, “I’d give ten years of my life to know just where 
the trouble lies. If I could just get a clue—” 

“I’ll give you one,” interrupted the king. “It lies with your¬ 
self. Why won’t you accept the fact that all you’ve done is 
to build a human house, for a living soul to function in ? That’s 
a wonderful achievement—and no man could do more. We 
often complimented you while you were putting this body to¬ 
gether—” 

“We? Of whom are you speaking?” 

“Oh, a group of us—all suicides—who wished we hadn’t 
been in such a hurry to shuffle off. I was the first to bespeak 


HICKS JAROU 169 

the body—but when it was ready that other fellow beat me 
to it!” 

Hicks Jarou studied the king for a moment with an expres¬ 
sion very like that a student gives to a problem in algebra that 
can’t be proven, then he turned again to Runjeet Singh. 

“Runjeet,” he said, “I’m almost convinced that the brain 
matter was changed by magnetic rays from certain planets. We 
must take up that line of study. Perhaps they caused fermenta¬ 
tion—just as heat causes less complicated chemical compounds 
to ferment—” 

“I remember,” interrupted Runjeet Singh, “that Venus was 
in mid-heaven, at the time—and perhaps we didn’t get that 
bunch of protoplasm properly immune.” 

“Cut it out,” thundered the king, “and listen to me. I’ve 
stood this damn-fool nonsense long enough. Listen, now. I’m 
going to step out and have some fun. I’m going into society 
and you can’t prevent it.” 

“We’ll put him back into the incubator,” said Hicks Jarou, 
with decision, “and lock him in. Shut off the air, too.” 

“And I’ll leave the body,” replied the king, calmly “and just 
hang around until you get tired of the fight. You’ll have to 
decide to give the body another chance, and then I’ll step in 
and set it going. Believe me, Hicksey, no one else shall take 
possession until I say the word. If you succeed in getting me 
out before I am ready to go, you’ll have to cut this blooming 
shell into mince meat. Now I ask you, what do you think you’d 
gain by doing that ? Why be so stubborn ? In your heart you 
are already convinced that you didn’t make me—that you can 
only lay claim to the body. Why not be man enough to say so ?” 

“For the sake of argument, I will admit it,” replied Hicks 
Jarou. “Very well, then. That body is my property, and I 
command you to leave it.” 

“And I refuse to obey,” was the prompt response. 

“Call that playing fair?” asked Runjeet. 


170 


HICKS JAROU 


“You haven’t given me a fair show,” retorted the king. 
“Remember, you can never carry out your plans for Tyrsanghee 
unless you treat me right, because I will see to it that the body 
remains vacant. Not only that, but if you become too disagree¬ 
able, I promise you that I’ll leave this precious mechanism in 
such shape that it can never house another tenant.” 

“Now see here,” temporized the scientist, “if you are what 
you say you are, you must know you are traveling under false 
pretences. You must know that you are not real—” 

“I’m as real as you are!” interrupted the king. “What differ¬ 
ence does it make that I live in another body than that which 
I first inhabited? Do you know how many bodies you have 
carried about?” 

“But you are only a temporary tenant—” interrupted Runjeet. 

“Nothing to it. Any man is liable to die and leave his body. 
Why, Hicksey, you may die years before I pull out of this 
good looking shell.” 

Jarou could not deny this, having gone thus far in his half¬ 
hearted recognition of the theory that an independent entity 
did inhabit the body. “Well,” he said, after a few moments 
deliberation/ 4 it remains for me to tell our Royalton friends 
who and what you are.” 

The king laughed heartily. “Do,” he said, “and see what 
happens. Who will believe you, when I deny what you say? 
They’ll have you up for insanity. Wasn’t that what you once 
said would happen to me, if I told the truth? Royalton isn’t 
ready for such a truth as either you or I could tell. As for 
me, I’m going to be recognized as the sanest man in the universe 
from now on. You’ll see. You’d better bow to the inevitable, 
old top.” 

“Let’s get to work,” said Hicks Jarou, in an undertone to 
Runjeet Singh. “I’m ready to take chances. Nothing could 
be worse than this. Come on!” 

“No you don’t!” interrupted the king. “You won’t work 
any tricks on me. I’m not going back into that incubator. 


HICKS JAROU 


171 


You can't put me back. But if you think you can, just try it! 
I dare you to try it. This body is as heavy as the deuce, but 
I can manage it well enough, now, to put you both out of the 
counting." 

“After all,” said Runjeet Singh pacifically, “why not let 
him do as he wants to—see what will happen ?" 

“I am King Omar-Kouli,” interrupted the king proudly. 
“I am every inch a king, too, and I’m handsome." He surveyed 
himself in the mirror, as he spoke. “Lord, what a leg! What 
shoulders! And did you ever see a more perfect nose ?’’ He 
slapped Hicks Jarou familiarly on the shoulder; “old top, you 
did a fine job when you made this body, and the king-racket 
is simply corking." 

Hicks Jarou advanced with blazing eyes, and the king squared 
off like a prize fighter. “Keep your hands off,” he said “or 
you’ll wish you had. This body is backed up by a force that 
could tie you two men into a knot in a jiffy. I have been attend¬ 
ing to that while you had me locked in this room. Believe me, 
I’m ready for you. I was prepared to come out without your 
assistance, when you unlocked the door. See here." He picked 
up a heavy mahogany table, held it with one hand high above 
his head, then brought it down before him, breaking it into 
bits, as one breaks a bundle of dry spaghetti. “Now," he said, 
quietly, “do you think you’d enjoy monkeying with King Omar- 
Kouli?” 

Both men decided very quickly that they would not care to 
to try to return him to the incubator unless they could catch 
him off guard, and they also saw the futility of trying any 
longer to keep him a prisoner in his room. Hicks Jarou could 
no longer doubt that his creature had taken up an independent 
existence. Exceedingly independent. 

“I learned a lot about electricity," the king informed them, 
“after I drowned myself—facts that are not known on this 
earth, although they’ve long been known on Mars.” 


172 


HICKS JAROU 


“See here,” exclaimed Hicks Jarou, “you’ve got to stop 
talking as if you’d ever lived outside that body.” 

“I shall do as I please about that,” replied the king, calmly. 
“I call no man master.” 

“Don’t you think you owe me any consideration?” 

“No. What I think is that I’m doing you a mighty important 
service when I help you prove that this mechanism can be moved 
about like a naturally born human being. I practiced dancing 
while you had me shut up in this room, and I did very well—not, 
of course, as I used to do on the stage when the audience 
insisted on my repeating until I was worn out—but on the whole 
my work isn’t half bad. Look here,” and he waltzed about the 
room as gracefully as a dancing master. “I shall have a fine 
time, this evening, at the Mayor’s ball.” 

“Who told you about that?” demanded Hicks Jarou 

“These ears hear surprisingly well.” 

“You have received no invitation to the ball.” 

“Oh, yes, I have. You accepted for yourself, but regretted 
that the king would not be able to go. The king is able to go. 
He will surprise his friends this evening.” 

“Keep his dress suit—where it is,” said Hicks Jarou to 
Runjeet Singh. 

“But bring it to me when it is time to dress for that ball,” 
commanded the king, “or I’ll break every bone in your body.” 

Then he turned to Hicks Jarou: “You talk of consideration 
due you,” he said, sternly, “and propose to treat me like a slave. 
It can’t be done. I am a king. You have said so yourself. 
You can’t go back on that, now. You can’t tell the world the 
part you have played in putting this frame together, because 
no one will believe you. You have said I am King Omar-Kouli, 
of Tyrsanghee, and you bet your sweet life that’s who I am.” 

“No man will be recognized as King of Tyrsanghee who does 
not carry out my wishes. That body was built for a purpose.” 

“I know all about that. I’m not quarreling with your 
purpose.” 


HICKS JAROU 


173 


“The Queen of Tyrsanghee must be of a type capable of 
bearing perfect children,” 

“I understand, agree, and applaud.” 

“You could not win her—” 

“Oh, yes, I can. I learned her name—along with other things. 
Now I don’t say I won’t marry Beatrice Willis, but I do say 
she will have to be a lot more attractive than Evelyn Somers 
if she expects to win me. I’ll decide that after I’ve seen her.” 

“After you’ve seen her!” Hicks Jarou groaned. “You’ve 
been together almost constantly for weeks—” 

“I know. I’ve thought that all out, too. People will wonder 
at the mistakes I may make. Well, I shall say to them that I 
have not been myself since I came here, until since I recovered 
from my late very serious illness, because I was wandering 
around in a state of delirium—no, I guess we’d better call it a 
case of loss of identity. That’s quite common, you know. 
They’ll all understand that. You’d better study up on aphasia, 
and make some of the explanations yourself. They’ll sound 
better coming from you.” 

Hicks Jarou had to acknowlege the truth of this,—it would 
sound better coming from him. He was forced to admit that 
the king had hit on an easy way out of what had appeared to 
be an insurmountable difficulty. It was not easy for him to take 
orders from this, his handiwork, but he bravely took up this new 
problem. Since the king was determined to play his part, and 
there was no way to be rid of him, the wisest course was to 
help him play it gracefully. And after all, he was appearing a 
much more attractive personality than he had at first. The 
wonderful dream of a new race might still be indulged in. 

There was a sensation when Hicks Jarou entered the ball 
room, that evening, accompanied by King Omar-Kouli, as 
handsome as ever, evidently in the pink of condition, far more 
vivacious than Royalton had ever seen him, and much more 
approachable. He appeared very much like an ordinary 
American out for a good time. Without waiting one moment 


174 


HICKS JAROU 


longer than good form demanded, he made his way to Mrs. 
Somers. “Won't you dance?” he asked, and without awaiting 
her consent he placed his arm about her and whirled her out on 
the floor. 

It will be remembered that he had not danced at the balls to 
which he had been invited. He had said very distinctly that he had 
never learned to dance—that he had slaves to do his dancing for 
him—yet here he was, by far the best dancer in the room. He 
had said—and most disagreeably—that he did not approve of 
dancing, except by girls hired to entertain royalty—that he 
could not understand how cultivated people could take part in 
a performance that must be lowering to the morality of those 
who participated, and offensive to those who disliked to be 
pawed over. Yet his face was now alive with enjoyment, and he 
was holding Mrs. Somers much more closely than was necessary. 
Certainly that did not show marked dislike to close contact 
with common people. 

Another juicy morsel for those who enjoyed gossip, concerned 
the king's failure to give Beatrice the first dance. What did 
that mean ? 

The consenus of opinion had been that Beatrice was the 
king's preference! He had shown her every attention. He 
had called upon her the very evening before his illness—on that 
day when he was supposed to have returned to Tyrsanghee. 
Had she refused to become his queen, and thereby angered him ? 
Was that his method of reprisal? 

“Absurd,” sniffed some of the cynics. “No girl would 
refuse the hand of a king.” 

But the king was furnishing them another sensation. He 
and Mrs. Somers had stopped dancing. They happened to be 
standing very near the little group of gossippers, all of whom 
saw him fix his eyes on Beatrice. 

“Who is that stunning girl?” he asked Mrs. Somers, “I 
wish to be introduced.” 


HICKS JAROU 


175 


There was an exchange of glances which meant “now what 
do you know about that! He asks to be introduced.” 

“I will introduce you with pleasure,” replied Mrs. Somers, 
maliciously, and they moved towards the place where Beatrice 
stood beside her mother's chair, in conversation with Hicks 
Jarou. 

Mrs. Somers said, quite naturally, “Beatrice, King Omar- 
Kouli wishes to know you. Your majesty, allow me to present 
Miss Willis.” She performed the introduction as casually and 
innocently as if the two had never met before. It was a delicious 
moment. 

“Beatrice Willis!” exclaimed the king, breaking into the 
merriest peal of laughter. “So that’s who you are! And I 
never guessed it.” 

“Has King Omar-Kouli quite recovered?” inquired Beatrice 
pleasantly. 

“I’m all right now. Jarou told you, didn’t he, that I was 
not myself for a long time?” 

“He did say something of the sort. We were glad to know 
that.” 

“Glad to know what, please? I don’t quite understand.” 

“Glad to know that King Omar-Kouli was not as disagreeable 
as he appeared.” 

“Oh, I begin to see light! You didn’t like me?” 

“Not particularly,” replied Beatrice quite archly. “But of 
course you are not to be judged by past behavior,—if what 
your friends say of your condition is true.” 

“Please believe that it is true. Why, I could never have 
forgotten you, if I’d been in my right mind! Believe me, it 
won’t happen again. Won’t you dance ?” 

“I think not, thank you—not this time.” 

“All right. Some other time, then. You can’t side-step me 
forever. Come on, Evelyn, let’s take another turn.” 

Evelyn! He called her Evelyn. And he was dancing with 
her again—paying no attention to Royalton’s many pretty girls! 


176 


HICKS JAROU 


But the gossips had hardly got their critical faculties to 
work before it appeared that the king’s seeming indifference 
was not to last long. He danced steadily until nearly morning, 
and he did not miss any of the most attractive girls. He had 
a very jolly time, and so did they. In spite of the fact that 
he could not recall ever having met any of them, they were all 
flattered. They accepted his excuses at their face value. He 
had been ill—no one realized how ill—a form of aphasia—Hicks 
Jarou would tell them about it. He was well, now—quite 
himself again, and they could all bet their sweet lives that he 
meant to have a hum-dinger of a good time. They admitted 
that his manner was somewhat unrestrained—not quite desirable 
for a king—but on the whole they liked him better this way. 
And after all, why should a king be particularly dignified! 
That was one of the old-fashioned notions that must be dis¬ 
carded. Dignity was bunk. There wasn’t the remotest reason 
why a king should not be a law unto himself—just as modern 
youth meant to be. Hurrah for a good time. 

Beatrice and her mother went home early. Mrs. Willis was 
worried. She had been tactfully but convincingly informed by 
Hicks Jarou that he expected her to use every influence to bring 
about a marriage between her daughter and his protege. There 
had been something more than a hint of future unhappiness for 
the house of Willis, in case he was disappointed. Mrs. Willis 
knew, now, how she was expected to pay the loan he had made 
her. She recalled what he had said, “why not enjoy your home 
to the last minute,” and again she shuddered when she thought 
of the peculiar emphasis he had placed on the last four words. 

“Mr. Jarou was not pleased,” she said to Beatrice, “because 
you refused to dance with the king.” 

“Mr. Jarou was not dancing with anyone,” Beatrice retorted. 
“Had he been polite enough to ask me to dance, I would then 
not have refused his silly king.” 

“But he has never danced.” 


HICKS JAROU 


177 


“Is that any reason why he never should? He pretends to 
like me—to be my best friend—then why shouldn’t he do as I 
want him to once in a blue moon!” 

“But Beatrice, you forget his age! He is too old—” 

“He isn’t old at all,” interrupted the girl, “except his lovely 
white hair, and that makes him look younger. He can do 
anything that any man in the younger set is doing, and a 
thousand things that none of them could do at all.” 

“That is true—but he doesn’t care to dance.” 

“If he wanted to please me he would learn to dance. He 
could do it without any difficulty. I believe he could dance 
better than any of us without taking a lesson.” 

“You talk like a child, Beatrice. What ails you! You are 
unreasonable. Think of a grave scientist, old enough to be your 
father, dancing to please you! You are absurd. And what, may 
I ask, are you doing to please him?” 

“He isn’t giving me much of an opportunity to do anything. 
He never talks to me—as if I were grown up—yet I’m sure he 
likes me better than anyone else in Royalton.” 

“He has told me how you can please him.” 

“By being friendly with the king, I suppose,” interrupted 
Beatrice, petulantly. “He’s told me that, too, and I did try while 
the king was a stranger. But he’s getting along very well 
without me, now.” 

“Hicks Jarou is not interested in the relations of Omar-Kouli 
with anyone but you, Beatrice,” said Mrs. Willis, gravely. “He 
wishes you to marry the king.” 

“He does !” Beatrice looked astonished, then mutinous. “Did 
he tell you that—in so many words—or did you infer it?” 

“He told me, very plainly, that he wishes you to marry Omar- 
Kouli.” 

“Well, you can tell Mr. Hicks Jarou for me that I’ll never 
do anything of the sort. I’ll tell him so, too. Oh, just let me 
have one good interview with that man! The idea of his 
thinking he can pick out a husband for me. I’ll soon let him 


178 HICKS JAROU 

know that there are a few of us—one at least—who won’t run 
when he whistles!” 

“Beatrice! Control yourself, dear child. Why, what a temper 
you have developed! I never saw you like this before.’’ 

“I never had any reason to be,” stormed Beatrice. “That 
man is enough to try the patience of a saint. Why should he 
be so anxious to marry me to Omar-Kouli, I’d like to know. 
It’s an insult—his daring to suggest such a thing.” 

“I don’t know about that. You and the king were together 
a great deal, before the king’s illness. Mr. Jarou may think 
you should not trifle with the affections of—of a king—and 
especially a—a foreigner—who might not take it like an 
American—” 

“I understand what you’re trying to say,” interrupted Beatrice, 
“and there’s nothing in it. I did not flirt with the king. I did 
my best to help entertain him, while he was strange here, and 
when he proposed I refused him—as kindly as I could, of 
course—and no one can say I did not have a right to refuse him.” 

“I see,” murmured Mrs. Willis, thoughtfully. “You refused 
him. That accounts for his odd behavior this evening.” 

“You mean his inability to recognize me?” Beatrice giggled. 
“That was a rather neat way to retaliate. No other man ever 
thought of that. But I met him on his own ground. He 
certainly is unique—and I had fun studying him—but as for 
marrying him—no thank you!” 

Mrs. Willis was very quiet. Her eyes wore a haunted look, 
she had become as pale as death, and her lips trembled. An 
involuntary groan escaped from her closly pressed lips. 

“What is it mother!” exclaimed Beatrice, anxiously. “Are 
you ill?” 

“Oh, my little girl,” moaned the mother—“I’ve got to tell 
you—I’d rather die than say it—but I’ve got to—I’ve got to! 
First let me ask you, dear—if you knew that I, your mother, and 
Hicks Jarou whom you call friend—if you knew that we both 
wished you to marry the king—couldn’t you do it ?” 


HICKS JAROU 


179 


“Evidently,” replied Beatrice, slowly, “there’s something to 
this that I don’t understand—something that I should be told. 
Come across, mother! I must know what’s behind that question 
before I answer it.” 

And then, for the first time, Mrs. Willis told her daughter 
of her indebtedness to Hicks Jarou. “You remember,” she 
said, as if by way of excuse, “you must recall that I told you 
how we were placed.” 

“Why, yes,” replied Beatrice, “but I suppose it did not make 
as much of an impression as it should. I was terribly worried 
for a few days—but you didn’t say anything more about it, 
and things went on as usual—” 

“Yes, as usual. Hicks Jarou made that possible—and I 
didn’t want to worry you—I kept hoping something would 
happen—” 

“Should I have guessed ?” asked Beatrice. “I didn’t know— 
no one has ever talked to me about business—how could I have 
guessed! And what could I have done!” 

“Nothing, dear, that you can’t do now.” 

“Hicks Jarou paid the mortgage on this place—has he done 
more than that ?” 

“Yes,” The reply came in an agonized whisper. 

“Hqw much more?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, exactly!” 

“You don’t know? Haven’t you signed notes, or given mort¬ 
gages, or — or anything like that?” 

“No, he has never said one word about notes or mortgages— 
or — or anything—and I have never asked for help—not since 
that first time. There has been no talk of money, or — or 
obligation — until tonight—” 

“But you expected to pay sometime?” 

“Yes. Oh, I can’t tell you how I have worried about it! 
But I thought that, at the worst, he’d probably take over the 
home—” 

“For the mortgage?” 


180 


HICKS JAROU 


“No, to cover what he has advanced. You see, he has paid 
the taxes, and every little while he has sent me a check—” 

“Without being asked?” 

“Yes. I suppose he realized that we’d have to live, and pos¬ 
sibly he planned to advance the value of this property— 
buy it in that way, and let us live here until you married. I—I 
had hoped that—that we shouldn’t need to take more than the 
value of the place—” 

“But we have?” 

“I’m afraid so—but I’m not quite sure. I asked for an 
accounting—and—he has told me how he is to be paid. Oh, 
Beatrice, he was so decided about it! It was more like a 
threat than—than anything—and yet his offer was generous. 
The debt will be wiped out—forgotten—this home will be 
mine—you will have everything that money can buy—if you 
marry King Omar-Kouli.” 

“So that’s the way it stands! It would be interesting to 
know the exact sum involved. I must ask Mr. Hicks Jarou, 
eminent biologist, for a statement. I’d like to know my value, 
as merchandise. I want to know the amount my mother is will¬ 
ing to sell me for—the amount the man who posed as my best 
friend is willing to pay—for a wife for King Omar-Kouli.” 

Beatrice pressed her hands over her mouth, as if to press 
back the wild, rebellious words that clamored for expression. 
She gave her mother one long, reproachful, heart-broken look, 
then turned suddenly, rushed to her own room and locked 
herself in. Her fight was on — not for freedom, but for 
strength to bear the inevitable. 


CHAPTER XIII 


Before his illness, King Omar-Kouli had been considered 
a good deal of a barbarian—which of course was not surprising 
when one remembers that his kingdom was an island in the 
South Seas. Allowance had to be made for speech and man¬ 
nerisms at times almost offensive to Royalton’s smart set—and 
allowance was made most generously, which was perfectly right 
and proper, also easy to accomplish, as any one would under¬ 
stand, who could realize the advantages of hob-nobbing with 
a wealthy king. And it was made easier by the king’s unusual 
personal appearance. Had he been black with thick lips and 
kinky hair—had he worn an Oriental visage, or had he even 
looked like the handsome native Hawaiians, it would have been 
more difficult to overlook some of the things he said and did. 

But since his illness Royalton had been too astonished for 
words by the great change they found in him. He was still 
somewhat eccentric, and he did many funny things that one 
would have never supposed a king would do, and he often used 
slang like a newsboy, and his craving for amusement was really 
almost abnormal. He had little to say to the older members of 
society, but devoted himself to the gayest of the young people, 
and often led them into orgies that scandalized the more sedate. 
Yet he was forgiven even that. 

“He is so young,” they said, “and being a foreigner he cannot 
be expected to understand our customs and prejudices; he is 
intoxicated with his freedom from the exactions of court life; 
we must not criticize him harshly.” 

The king summed it all up in one sentence: “I am a king 
and can do what I damn please. That’s the law this silly old 
world has made for its kings.” 

In his quiet moments it was understood that the king was 
amusing himself by writing a musical comedy. He said little 


181 


182 


HICKS JAROU 


about it, however, but let it be known that the manuscript 
was kept in an iron safe he had caused to be brought to his 
room, which of course proved that he considered it very prec¬ 
ious. Mrs. Somers was the only one to whom he had said 
anything that would give the remotest idea concerning his 
topic. He had asked her, one day, to write out the notes of 
a little melody that had been going through his head all day. 
He hummed it, while she picked out the notes on her piano, and 
finally he became so interested that he sang the words. She 
pretended to take no notice, but quietly wrote them down and 
shortly thereafter she showed them to Alfred Burton. It ran 
as follows: 

“A king was completed today, 

He's not made in the usual way, 

And the demons shriek as they sing— 

‘ W ullabaloola! W ullabaloola! 

What a king!’” 

“This seems to be followed by a sort of chant,” added Mrs. 
Somers, “that is really weird.” She tried to reproduce it. 

“Abra, cabra, om, om, om; 

Wand’ring spirit, come, come, come. 

One-ery, two-ery, tickery dock; 

Come at the twelfth stroke of the clock. 

Abra, cabra, om, om, om; 

Wand’ring spirit come, come, come.” 

“Sounds rather silly, don’t you think?” asked Burton, in 
his carefully cultivated, detached manner. 

“Yes, it does; but I can’t help thinking that the king doesn’t 
consider it silly, and that he isn’t doing it for fun.” 

“For Pete’s sake, what could he be doing it for—senseless 
drivel like that!” 

Remember, we don’t know what action he plans to go with 
it. Somehow, I feel confident that he is writing this musical 
comedy to annoy Hicks Jarou.” 


HICKS JAROU 183 

“Well, if Jarou can be annoyed by stuff like that, he’s in 
need of a rest cure.” 

“You’re dense, Alfred—rather more so than usual. You pay 
no attention to the significance of that second line—‘he’s not 
made in the usual way. Can’t you see that might mean that 
Omar-Kouli wasn’t born a king?” 

“Suppose he’d be telling it if he were not?” 

“He might if he knew it would annoy Hicks Jarou.” 

“Why should he wish to annoy him?” 

“Because he doesn’t like him.” 

“How do you know that he doesn’t ?” 

“He has said a number of things that, remembered and put 
together, point to that conclusion.” 

“Yet he expects to become heir to Jarou’s property. I don’t 
believe any sane man would take chances on losing out in 
a matter like that.” 

“Only yesterday I heard him call Hicks Jarou a confounded 
old fossil. And he makes all manner of fun of his pretentions 
as a scientist.” 

“I should say, then,” replied Burton, judicially, “that he 
advertised his own limitations. Hicks Jarou is a very great 
scientist. Even a man, like myself, who doesn’t care much 
about him, must admit that.” 

“The king declares that no scientist can be great who has 
no conception of God.” 

“You don’t mean it! I had no idea that the king was 
religious.” 

“I don’t know that he is, as we define the term. He doesn’t 
seem to be interested in churches, yet he talks of God and 
life after death with such absolute conviction that he is really 
convincing.” 

“You seem to find him convincing.” 

“I find him very interesting. I never heard anyone talk 
so calmly of that place where souls may meet—where family 
reunions are held—all that sort of thing. He says, exactly 


184 


HICKS JAROU 


as if he knew all about it, that we are not so very different 
five minutes after leaving the body from what we were five 
minutes before. He scoffs at the idea that the process of 
passing out of the body makes angels of us all in the twinkling 
of an eye. Somehow his ideas seem so comfy to people like me 
who simply can’t want to be an angel, and with the angels stand, 
a crown upon my forehead, a harp within my hand.” 

Burton laughed. “Really,” he said, “your friends would 
find it difficult to picture you as that sort of an angel. I’m 
glad that the king has convinced you that you need not be 
transformed out of all likeness to your present charming self.” 

“Now you are pleased to be sarcastic. No woman particu¬ 
larly cares to have you compliment her, Alfred. We all know 
you never mean it.” 

“Sometimes I do. I am really very fond of you, in my way, 
Evelyn.” 

“You’ll never be as fond of any woman as you are of your¬ 
self.” 

“No, I don’t think I could be. But I care enough for you 
not to want you to marry that damned king.” 

“Do you think I’m in danger of doing that ?” 

“I don’t know. I think he’s making quite a desperate attempt 
to win you. Why don’t you marry Franklin Potter?” 

“Franklin Potter! Whatever put that into your head? He’s 
never paid any attention to me, or I to him.” 

“You could win him if you tried.” 

“I could win you if I tried.” 

“Perhaps. Don’t try. I have no desire for matrimony, and 
I can’t understand why you should have. But you seem deter¬ 
mined to marry again. I’m all out of patience with you.” 

“What makes you think I’m so crazy to marry?” 

“I’m judging by the way you act. You used to be the best 
old scout I knew, but now—” 

“A woman likes attention, whether she expects to be married 
or not. One hates to think one is too old for a flirtation.” 


HICKS JAROU 


185 


“I’d pay you any amount of attention—flirt with you, too, 
if I could be sure it would never go any farther than that. 
Fact is, Evelyn, Fm afraid of you. But if you’d give me your 
word of honor—” 

“Delightful flirtation we could have under such a condition 
as you’d impose!” scoffed Evelyn. “Fact is, Alfred, I don’t 
want to flirt with you. But I want to keep you safely in my 
background, and so I’m not going to let anyone else marry you.” 

“That’s all right. I don’t want anyone else to marry me. 
I just want to be let alone. And I want you to stay single, 
so we can play around together.” 

“Yet you proposed Franklin Potter—” 

“Only as the lesser of two evils. It seems to me he’d be a 
more appropriate match than the king. And I’m sure he is as 
anxious to marry as you seem to be.” 

“He does impress one as lonely, and loneliness is the only 
reason the middle-aged have for marrying. He is pleasant to 
meet, but I can’t believe he’d ever be very dependable. He 
seems to me to be lacking in stability. I sometimes think he 
is a man without character.” 

“A man without character! He’s rather well spoken of 
among men.” 

“I wonder if he has principles that he’d swear by—we don’t 
know much about him—really. He has never said where he 
stands on any matter—” 

“You wrong him there. He has proven that he is not afraid 
to speak out, when given an opportunity. I liked his exposure 
of Lord Southdown, also what he said about that Italian count 
who came here looking for a rich wife—and surely you haven’t 
forgotten Sir Wilfred Yonge—whose grandfather, or some one, 
had been forbidden—” 

“Oh, he’s all to the good when it comes to genealogy!” 

“It was nice the way he proved that Marie Manners was 
really an aristocrat, when she had never mentioned her belief 


186 HICKS JAROU 

to that effect because she was too poor to live up to her social 
inheritance.” 

“He did her a real service. She is to marry the son of a soap 
manufacturer with oodles of money, who has been absolutely 
determined to buy an aristocratic wife for his precious offspring. 
And of course they’ll be received.” 

“And Potter really brought it about.” 

“Haven’t you guessed that Franklin wants to marry 
Beatrice ?” 

“We’ve all seen that; but he’ll never do it.” 

“Why not?” 

“She won’t have him.” 

“So you propose to wish him off on me.” 

“Not unless you are determined to marry.” 

“Well, I’m going to think about it a little while longer. But— 
you just listen to me—I have no intention of meeting Old 
Age alone. I intend to find some one to sit by the fire with me 
when I’m too old to go to dances.” 

“And in the meanwhile?” 

“Meanwhile, I’ll play around with the king, as long as it seems 
to amuse us both.” 

“Very well. You‘ll find me butting in and spoiling your 
fun when you least desire my companionship.” 

When Alfred Burton left Mrs. Somers, he went straight to 
the little cottage where Nathan had his work shop. He was 
surprised to find Hicks Jarou there, in his shirt sleeves, working 
at the same table with Nathan, and every bit as busy. They 
were working on tiny models of houses which they were group¬ 
ing into a very charming village. 

“Tyrsanghee,” said Hicks Jarou, indicating, the village, “and 
more modern than any town of its size in America, not even 
excepting Hibbing, Minnesota.” 

“Hold on there!” exclaimed Nathan as he pushed the 
scientist’s hand away from the village; “you’re putting the 
mills where the school buildings are to go.” 


HICKS JAROU 187 

“No, am I? Then what is all this space for if not for car 
tracks ?” 

“That is to be the play ground—and here's the park. We’ll 
put the mills and car tracks over here.” 

“You really think that’s best?” 

“I know it.” 

“Well, go ahead. Have it your own way. I suspect your 
judgment is better than mine in this case.” He turned to 
Alfred, laughing. “Sometimes I find this chap fearfully stiff¬ 
necked,” he said. 

“Oh, I give up my share of the time,” replied Nathan com¬ 
posedly, as he continued his arrangement of the toy village. 

Alfred was surprised. He had never seen Hicks Jarou so 
companionable. He was as interested in the work before him 
as he could have been in a problem in biology, and he was as 
approachable as a boy. 

“But why,” objected Alfred, “spoil a perfectly good South 
Sea island, by planting in it a modern town? Seems to me 
that would rob the place of its charm.” 

“It will in a way,” conceded Hicks Jarou, “but the place 
will be more livable to those who have become accustomed to 
modern homes.” 

“But you’re planning on so many houses.” , 

“I’m hoping a good many people will want to live there, 
when its attractions have been advertised. That is one reason 
why I’m training a few citizens—my servants—who will be 
able to train the Tyrsanghee natives to become good servants.” 

‘You seem to have thought of everything,” conceded Burton, 
as he thoughfully studied the tiny village. 

“I think I have. I am most anxious that the wife of King 
Omar-Kouli shall be very happy down there. Some day, I 
hope, the place will be known for its ideal government, its 
superior citizens, its college for research work, its discoveries 
in science—in fact for the things that make life worth living— 
but most emphatically not for its social follies.” 


188 HICKS JAROU 

“But what do you think will draw people there—white people, 
I mean?” 

“I shall be a contributing influence, I hope,” replied Hicks 
Jarou. “But understand—I do not mean to look for recruits 
among the smart sets of any country. I want thinkers, workers, 
earnest people from all over the world. I very much hope, for 
instance, that Nathan will make his home there, but I don’t 
want men like you or Franklin Potter.” 

“Oh, I say!” protested Alfred, smiling, “can’t you lay it on 
a little more gently? Of course, I can readily understand why 
I’m not classed with the producers—but Franklin Potter seems 
to keep pretty busy.” 

“He wouldn’t fit into my plans for Tyrsanghee,” replied 
Hicks Jarou, with decision, “but I want Nathan; and I can’t 
get his promise to go.” 

“I haven’t said I wouldn’t go,” replied Nathan, whose atten¬ 
tion was evidently more on his work than it was on what he 
was saying.. “In fact, I expect to go down and help put this 
town on the map. After that I’ll probably be guided by cir¬ 
cumstances.” 

“Good!” exclaimed Hicks Jarou, cheerfully. “Glad to get 
that much of a promise out of you! Do you know,” turning 
again to Alfred, “Nathan is the hardest man to pin down that 
I’ve ever met.” 

“Then don’t try to pin me down,” replied Nat calmly. “A 
man came in here a few days ago with a proposition he wanted 
me to agree to—and he actually brought a contract along. That 
settled it.” 

“It would—with you,” chuckled Hicks Jarou. “You’d run 
from a contract as most men would run from the plague.” 

“I should feel that it would rob me of my freedom—and 
that is something I value more than my life—freedom to do 
my best, in my own way—to live as seems good to me—not as 
others dictate. And that is why I quarrel with a part of your 
plans for Tyrsanghee.” 


HICKS JAROU 


189 


Hicks Jarou laughed. “He quarrels with me,” he explained 
to Burton, “because I plan to train some of the Tyrsanghec 
natives to become good servants.” 

“I can't see anything wrong about that,” replied Burton. 

“You wouldn’t,” said Nathan, “because you have no concep¬ 
tion of what is meant by the brotherhood of man. Why train 
any man to do what you wouldn’t do yourself?” 

“Nat would never have asked that question,’ said Hicks Jarou, 
“if he possessed even a little knowledge of biology. Nat, some 
day I’m going to introduce you to Albert Edward Wiggam. 
He’ll prove to you that there are people who can’t be anything 
else but servants, because that is their inheritance. We confer 
a benefit on humanity when we help them to do the only thing 
that could stand between them and humanity.” 

“If I have a correct understanding of Wiggams’ philosophy,” 
said Burton, “I should say that he would sterilize the unfit out 
of existence as fast as possible, and that you’d be conferring 
a greater benefit on humanity by letting them starve rather 
than training them to earn food.” 

“Do you know Wiggam?” asked Jarou, his face lighting up 
with pleasure. 

“I’ve met him. He has taken time, occasionally, to tell me 
things he thinks I ought to know.” 

“And you listened?” 

“I was glad to listen.” 

“Good! I didn’t know you very well—not as I hope to 
know you.” 

“I hope you’ll find me worthy,” was Burton’s modest re¬ 
joinder. 

“He will,” remarked Nat placidly; “you’re not half as empty- 
headed as you try to appear.” 

“Well,’ said Hicks Jarou, rising, “I must rejoin my guest.” 
He went to the door, and then turned to gaze wistfully at 
Nathan who was bent over his work again, too engrossed to 
notice that his employer was leaving. “We’ve had one more 


190 HICKS JAROU 

happy hour together, haven’t we, Nathan,” he asked almost 
wistfully. 

“You bet we have,” replied Nathan heartily, but without 
looking up from his work. 

When Hicks Jarou had closed the door behind him, Nathan 
said, “There goes one of the loneliest men I have ever met. 
Actually, I seem to be the only man he cares to talk to—yet 
it would seem as if he might have the scientific world at his 
feet if he’d make a sign to show that it would give him pleasure.” 

“What do you suppose is the trouble with him,” queried 
Alfred. 

“I don’t suppose; I know. He needs some sort of religious 
belief. He is the most confirmed materialist I have ever known, 
and so his life is robbed of its meaning. And he won’t listen 
to argument. He doesn’t want to be convinced, because he has 
some silly notion that to accept a belief in immortality would 
be to overthrow all his work has meant to him.” 

“Aren’t scientists rather rank materialists as a rule?” 

“Some of them are, but none of them need to be. I’ve tried 
to make him see that , but he won’t listen.” 

“Say, Nat, I didn’t know you went in for religion—that is, 
not particularly.” 

“I didn’t in the old days. I should never have done what 
I did, if I could have known just a little of what I learned by 
being killed.” 

“I see,” said Alfred, softly. “You’ve never told me about 
that experience—” 

“And I’m not going to tell you now,” interrupted Nathan. 
“It would assuage your curiosity perhaps, but it wouldn’t do 
you any good. I will simply say that I learned that we are 
each put on this earth to do a certain part toward helping along 
God’s great plan, and that we’ve got to be sorry either here or 
hereafter, if we side-step our obligations. And I will add that 
I know —know mind you—I’m not just guessing, or hoping, or 


HICKS JAROU 


191 


believing—I know that there is a life after this, the comfort of 
which depends upon the quality of the life lived here.” 

“That is very interesting,” replied Alfred. 

“You’d like to say interesting if true ” replied Nathan with 
a smile. “I know. I’ve been as you are now. But life as a 
whole—both here and hereafter—has become the most interest¬ 
ing subject in the world to me, and there’s only one person I 
know with whom I can discuss it.” 

“Who is that favored one?” asked Alfred a little jealously, 
for he liked to think he was Nathan’s most intimate friend. 

“King Omar-Kouli,” was Nathan’s unexpected reply. 

“That travesty!” exclaimed Alfred indignantly. “I didn’t 
realize you were joking.” 

“I wasn’t. I mean what I say. King Omar-Kouli has won¬ 
derful spiritual perceptions, and I am very happy when we can 
have a half hour alone together.” 

“He certainly knows how to hide his ability to think.” 

“Why not? Who, among your friends, would care to know 
that he thinks? Isn’t he giving the Royalton smart set what 
it can best appreciate?” 

Alfred Burton went home that evening in a very thoughtful 
mood. He had gone to Nathan hoping to get hold of some bit 
of information that would give him a clue to the king’s character 
—not the sort of clue that had been given him—but something 
that could be used to prevent either Evelyn Somers or Beatrice 
Willis from marrying the man he so deeply distrusted. And he 
had learned that the king was simply trying to give his friends 
what he believed they were able to appreciate—and that he had 
another side to his character that could interest a man like 
Nathan Hawkins. 


CHAPTER XIV 


Good drama was being enacted in Royalton; but like most 
instances where it rises far above the mediocre, it was not being 
recognized as such. There was much really excellent by-play- 
instances that were decidedly dramatic, and would have been so 
recognized, had not the affairs of King Omar-Kouli been so very 
absorbing that they dwarfed every other center of emotion. 
Which would be finally chosen as Queen of Tyrsanghee— 
Evelyn Somers or Beatrice Willis? It was quite generally 
agreed that he was more interested in Mrs. Somers, but that 
for some reason not explained, he believed Beatrice would make 
the more suitable queen. He divided his attentions pretty evenly 
between them, and still found time and opportunity to flirt with 
several other pretty girls—none of whom proved unwilling. 
He was the most delightful playfellow the girls of Royalton 
had ever known, and no entertainment was considered worth 
attending unless his presence was guaranteed. No one asked 
whether the ladies he waited upon would accept him, should he 
propose. It was a generally accepted fact that he could marry 
anyone he wanted. 

Men did not like King Omar-Kouli; but after all that was 
not so very surprising. Women set that down to jealousy, and 
usually laughed when some man friend warned them not to get 
too intimate with King Omar-Kouli. The great trouble was that 
they always failed to give a good reason for their warning. 
They couldn’t. To say that “they had a hunch” and fail to 
provide proof was not very convincing. 

On several occasions Alfred Burton had warned Mrs. Somers. 
He had angrily told her, on each occasion, that he’d never 
again take the trouble, that he really didn’t care what happened, 
that she could do as she pleased, and he hoped she would live 
to remember what he had said and to wish that she had taken 


192 


HICKS JAROU 


193 


his advice—and always she had laughed and gone on flirting 
with the king and kept everyone wondering if she would win 
him in the end. 

After his latest warning, Mrs. Somers had surprised Alfred 
by saying, “don’t worry so, Alfred. I shall not suffer, what¬ 
ever I do. I suffered all I was capable of suffering when my 
husband died. When he went away, he took my heart with 
him. Whatever I may decide to do with myself will be done 
simply for the sake of companionship—and change. And 
I shall feel that my husband will understand, and that some 
day I shall go to him and we’ll be companions’ again.” 

“Is that what you really believe?” asked Alfred curiously. 

“It is what I have come to believe—since I’ve been so 
chummy with King Omar-Kouli.” 

“Is the king a spiritualist?” 

“Something like that, I think. Anyhow, he has made me 
believe in a life after death, a doctrine that I never before 
could really accept. He says Nathan Hawkins believes, too, 
and that Nathan has had an experience—you know—after he 
was shot—that has convinced him of the reality of life after 
death. He is sure that we preserve our identity after the 
great change—that we meet our dear ones and know them—that 
we can be together while working out the next step—the next 
great change — Oh, Alfred, it is wonderful! I do wish you 
could get Nathan Hawkins to call on me! I want to talk to 
him — intimately — and he won’t so much as recognize me. 
He talks of his experiences to a stranger, like the king; why 
won’t he talk to an old friend?” 

“He probably does not recognize you as an old friend,” re¬ 
plied Alfred. 

“He accepts you.” 

“He puts up with my companionship, when I get him cornered, 
but always he shows that he has very little use for me. I don’t 
believe I could persuade him to see you — and I don’t believe 
he’d talk if he did see you — not intimately. I’ve tried to get 


194 


HICKS JAROU 


him to tell me his experiences — but it seems that the king 
is the only one who is really in his confidence.” 

“I’ve been so interested in what the king has told me. Do 
you know, he says it is possible for one to send one’s astral on 
long journeys — outside the body — even to meet people who 
have gone before. He won’t tell me how to do it, but he says 
that sometime he’ll try to get into communication with my 
husband.” 

“Evelyn, such talk is dangerous. It leads to insanity. Don’t 
have anything more to do with that man. He is a rank fakir. 
He ought to be tarred and feathered and escorted out of town 
on a rail — in the good old-fashioned way.” 

“Burned at the stake, too ?” asked Evelyn, innocently. “Haven’t 
we civilized beings gotten away from the idea of punishing those 
who don’t agree with us?” 

“Well, anyhow, promise me you won’t marry that man. 
There is something radically wrong with him. I can’t find out 
what it is, but I know I’m right about it.” 

“He may be radically wrong,” replied Evelyn, “but you 
must admit that he is very interesting. He keeps us all guessing, 
and life is never a drag when he is around.” 

“Evelyn, will you marry me?” 

“You ask that because you hope in that way to save me from 
the king! That’s very sweet of you, Alfred — but I’m not 
fooled. I know just how ready you are to marry anyone. Really, 
Alfred, dear, you have nothing to offer in dazzling futures 
that can compete with Omar-Kouli. Why should I marry you ?” 

“My prediction is that if you marry that fakir, you’ll live to 
wish you had married me.” 

“Oh, you and I wouldn’t make such an impossible couple,” 
she replied, carelessly. “We would have the advantage of not 
expecting from each other what neither could give. You would 
know that my heart remains with my husband; I would know 
that yours will never beat for anyone but yourself. And I 


HICKS JAROU 


195 


suppose we could offer each other the sort of companionship 
that we both understand/ 5 

“Yes/ 5 replied Burton, “at least, we could give that/ 5 

“Some day/ 5 continued Evelyn/ 5 we may find it worth con¬ 
sidering — some day when we are too old to be interesting 
to the younger set, and time has separated us from those who 
find us interesting now. I can imagine such a condition/ 5 

“I presume you 5 d like to add, some day when you have 
divorced the king — or he has divorced you! 55 

“Oh, let me be the one to divorce him. That’s more com¬ 
plimentary. 55 

“Have it your own way. It will be a catastrophe, how¬ 
ever you put it. 55 

Mrs Somers laughed. “Well, let’s not worry about a catas¬ 
trophe that may never overtake us. We may die sooner than 
we think—and notwithstanding your kind offer, I may become 
Queen Omar-Kouli, and die in far off Tyrsanghee with savages 
dancing around my flaming funeral pyre. 55 

But the next few weeks made that contigency seem rather 
less probable than it had seemed to Alfred that day when he 
angrily left the presence of Mrs. Somers. It was observed 
that the king was seen more frequently at the afternoon teas that 
Mrs. Willis still gave the appearance of being Royalton’s most 
exclusive function. Mrs. Willis treated him with charming 
deference, but Beatrice held herself aloof. It was this air of 
aloofness that was now attracting the king. 

“I have got to prove to that young lady that I am not to 
be ignored,” he said one evening to Hicks Jarou. “I don’t mind 
her little air of independence — in fact I admire it; but she 
can’t continue treating me as if I were something the cat 
brought in. I won’t stand for it.” 

Hicks Jarou’s eyes gleamed, and he received his first im¬ 
pressive lesson in the ways of a woman. He had not been 
satisfied with the behavior of Beatrice. He had said so to 
her mother and had intimated that there might be disagreeable 


196 


HICKS JAROU 


consequences, financially, if she did not show a better control 
over her daughter. Now he saw that Beatrice had taken the 
best way possible to divert the king’s attention from Evelyn 
Somers. 

“Have you decided, then, to marry Miss Willis?” he asked. 

“Not at all. I’m simply going to compel her to give me the 
consideration due me.” 

“I think she does that already,” replied Jarou, curtly. You 
certainly do not deserve the consideration one would give to a 
man who respects himself and his position.” 

“Holy Smoke! that’s one straight from the shoulder.” The 
king was silent for a moment. “Do you know,” he suddenly 
exclaimed, “I believe you’re right about that. I’ve been holding 
myself too cheaply. I must change all that. I ought still to be 
actor enough to put up a pretty good likeness of a pre-Victorian 
king.” 

And that is what he proceeded to do, and Royalton was shaken 
by a new sensation. The king was not himself at all. At 
least, he did not appear at all as he had been. He was giving 
himself airs. He was exclusive. He was assuming an impor¬ 
tance that was not to be conceded after his display of democratic 
ideals. The younger set found him less amusing. The more 
thoughtful citizens who had ventured to criticize him, were 
perplexed. He was no longer treated with the familiarity 
which he had seemed to enjoy. He now made it understood, 
but without saying so, that he had grown weary of that sort 
of companionship. He declared he had adopted his previous 
air of intimacy simply as a means to study Royalton’s younger 
set. He was done with that phase of his visit. From now on 
he would give more time to his musical comedy, and less to 
social dissipations. He let it be known that his musical comedy 
would give an excellent picture of a king’s sojourn in 
a democratic country—and for some reason the smart set did 
not feel quite comfortable. What, exactly, would that “excellent 
picture” be like? They suddenly realized that he could, if he 


HICKS JAROU 


197 


wished, tell secrets that would make them the laughing stock 
of an unsympathetic proletariat—and that wouldn’t be at all 
nice. Would he do a thing like that? Had he been studying 
them—and did he mean it when he said that Nathan Hawkins 
was better worth knowing than anyone else in Royalton? At 
the time, it was received as one of his reckless speeches, meant 
to be laughed at—and they had all laughed. But perhaps he did 
mean it. If so, what was it about Nathan that he found so in¬ 
teresting? Would Nathan, also, figure in the musical comedy? 

There was one person in Royalton who was not worrying 
about that musical comedy. Her anxiety was such that it left 
her no moment of peace in which to think of anything but her 
own immediate problem. Mrs. Willis was grieving because her 
daughter did not speak to her, except in the briefest possible 
of replies, when asked some leading question. Beatrice was 
keeping her own room as much as possible. When asked if she 
were ill, she had replied, politely but distantly, “no, thanks, I’m 
just trying to think things out—plan my future, you know. 
I’ll tell you about it when it has been decided,” for all the world 
as if her own mother no longer had anything to say about it. 
And that was the longest speech she had made since that night 
when she had learned of the debt to Hicks Jarou, and how she 
was expected to pay it. 

Mrs. Willis was frantic. She was also aggrieved. She pitied 
herself. She really had not thought that Beatrice would take 
it like that. Beatrice was unreasonable. She had believed the 
child would understand that the debt had been made largely on 
her account—simply that she might have as good a start in life 
as her friends enjoyed. Other mothers had selected husbands 
for their daughters, arid the roof had not been brought down 
over their devoted heads. And probably there was not one 
among the other mothers who really believed that the husband 
selected was good enough for the beloved daughter. She, her¬ 
self, was convinced that there wasn’t a man in Royalton good 
enough for Beatrice—not one whom she really wanted for a 


198 


HICKS JAROU 


son-in-law. She certainly did not want King Omar-Kouli—but 
she’d a hundred times rather have him than Hicks Jarou. Hicks 
Jarou! That was where the shoe pinched. She knew that her 
daughter was interested in the white-haired scientist, and she 
believed that, notwithstanding the disparity in ages, Beatrice 
would marry him if he asked her. True, she was exceedingly 
angry with him now. That was something for which to be 
thankful. To believe that Hicks Jarou proposed to buy her 
for a wife for the king seemed to have been all that was needed 
to shatter any romantic feeling she may have had for him. 
Thank Heaven, that was one big worry cleared away. But was 
it cleared away? If Jarou happened to realize her feeling for 
him—change his mind about marriage—let a young girl feed 
his vanity—propose marriage—could there be any doubt as to 
the girl’s answer? Mrs. Willis groaned in spirit. If Beatrice 
married Jarou, she would never see her daughter again. God 
couldn’t be so cruel as to give her Hicks Jarou for a son-in-law. 
She hated the king and his Tyrsanghee—but he’d be better than 
Jarou. Was there no other way out of the dilemma? Then, 
once again as she had so frequently done of late, she turned her 
thoughts toward Franklin Potter. He was far from being 
good enough for Beatrice—but if he could step between them 
and Hicks Jarou—oh, if he only could rescue her and Beatrice! 

She called Potter over the phone. Could she take a few 
moments of his precious time? Thanks so much. She would 
be in his office within the hour. She was. Mr. Potter was 
delighted. He felt indebted to whatever it was that had provided 
him the very great pleasure of a call from the most charming 
lady of his acqaintance. And then the tea-table was brought 
out, quite as if they were in dear old England, and soon the 
scene was set for the disclosure of whatever it was that brought 
her there. He sincerely hoped that she had not come to tell him 
that Beatrice had changed her mind, and would marry him. 

“Franklin,” she began, “you know how I depend upon you— 
quite as if you really were my son.” 


HICKS JAROU 


199 


Franklin bowed his acknowledgements, and hoped that his 
countenance remained calm, and that she had not heard the 
gulping noise made by his Adam's apple. 

“Well, I'm worried almost to death. IVe got to have 
advice — and in order to make myself clear, I’ve got to tell 
something about my personal affairs that I’d rather die than 
divulge.” 

“Of course if I can help you,” murmured Franklin, his 
voice dying away so that the remainder of his assurance was 
inaudible. 

“Here’s the situation in a nut shell: I owe quite a sum of 
money — and I can’t pay it without help.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that. Now a small amount — if a small 
amount would help — I’d be only too glad—” 

“I need fifty thousand dollars.” 

“Fifty thousand! You don’t mean fifty thousand!” 

’“Does that seem to you like an impossible sum? I didn’t 
think any man would find it so. Money goes so fast. It buys 
so little. And oh, how hard it is to get! I’ve never had very 
much — I’ve always been obliged to pinch the pennies — to 
strive in every way to make ends meet. I hoped fifty thousand 
wouldn’t sound very fearsome to a man.” 

“Of course it isn’t much—as money is reckoned in these 
days. To men who have that much it really seems like nothing 
worth mentioning.” 

“Yes. That’s what I thought you’d say.” 

“It is a comparatively small sum,” continued Franklin sooth¬ 
ingly, “and I’m sure you need not worry about it. You 
have so many friends to whom it would be a mere bagatelle.” 

“Bagatelle!” repeated Mrs. Willis. “To me it is like a mill¬ 
stone tied to my neck. It is enormous. It clutches me like an 
octopus. It robs me of sleep. It haunts me. It hangs over me 
like the sword of Damocles. I never dreamed that mere money 
could make one suffer so.” 

“To whom do you owe it?” 


200 HICKS JAROU 

“To Hicks Jarou,” whispered Mrs. Willis, and her teeth 
actually chattered. 

“Hicks Jarou is a fiend,” muttered Franklin Potter. 

“No,” replied Mrs. Willis, quickly, “I can’t say that, honestly. 
He didn’t offer me the money. I asked for it. I was in trouble. 
I didn’t know which way to turn. I appealed to him, knowing 
that I did not deserve fair treatment, because years ago, when I 
was a girl I had not treated him fairly. I really have no right 
to blame him for lending me money when I asked for it. Why 
do you think him a fiend?” she asked, suddenly suspicious; 
“did he force his help on you?” 

“No,” admitted Franklin; “he didn’t. He made me an offer 
and I accepted it. I was very glad to accept it. It looked like 
a very wonderful offer. I could not see that it would lead to— 
well—something very like slavery.” 

“Slavery!” repeated Mrs. Willis, “oh, that sounds terrible! 
And I had hoped you could help me.” 

“I have never had as much as fifty thousand dollars at any 
time in my life.” 

“Don’t you have a fixed salary, or allowance, or whatever 
it is ? People say you are a remittance man — from England—” 

“I am from England. I was in London when I met Hicks 
Jarou. I suppose I have more to spend than any remittance 
man. I can spend as much as I care to, but every month I 
must give an itemized account of all I spend. There can be 
no investments, no accumulating bank account — nothing that 
might offer a hope of future independence. I am being very 
frank with you, because we are in the same boat, and I am 
sorry for you. But I could not help you pay your debt to 
Hicks Jarou, although there is nothing on earth that would 
give me greater pleasure.” 

“And the king — is he also a slave?” 

“I think not. At one time I was quite sure he was, but I 
think I was mistaken. He seems to be very independent. 
Sometimes Hicks Jarou appears to be more afraid of the king 


HICKS JAROU 


201 


than the king is of Jarou. I do not understand their relation¬ 
ship. While they seem to be opposed to each other, in a way, 
yet they also seem to be dependent upon each other.” 

“The king says he is wealthy in his own right. Do you 
believe that?” 

“I have no reason to doubt it. The island of Tyrsanghee 
must be fabulously wealthy. I am sure that is where Hicks 
Jarou obtains most of his money.” 

“Well, if the king is not objectionable to Beatrice, I sup¬ 
pose the best thing she can do is to marry him. And if she did 
she would see that the debt to Hicks Jarou was discharged.” 

“But in some way, I’m convinced that she, too, would become 
a slave to Hicks Jarou.” 

“Do you think the king would allow that? You say he 
asserts his own independence — that he seems able to make 
Jarou fear him—” 

“I know; but a burnt child dreads the fire, and I can’t believe 
she would escape. Neither you nor I could even guess at 
our present predicament when we accepted financial aid from 
Hicks Jarou. His ways are circuitous. The very fact that he 
insists upon this marriage is enough to fill me with alarm.” 

“What can I do about it? How can I prevent it, since you 
are unable to help me.” 

“Haven’t you urged Beatrice to marry him if he asked her to ?” 

“Yes, I have. I couldn’t see any other way out.” 

“Well, why not warn her to think twice before doing so? 
Why not tell her to take plenty of time for consideration— 
that you’d rather she decided against him?” 

“For the same reason,” interrupted Mrs. Willis, “that you 
do not go to Hicks Jarou and proclaim your independence. He 
could ruin us — send us to the poor-house. You and I are 
both afraid of poverty. We have sat beside the flesh-pots too 
long. We are too old to change. We are so afraid of being 
poor that we cling to Hicks Jarou as a drowning man clings— 
to whatever comes within reach. We may as well admit it.” 


202 


HICKS JAROU 


Franklin Potter bowed his head in silent assent. He knew 
that Mrs. Willis spoke the miserable truth. 

“Mrs. Willis,” he asked, “what will you do if Beatrice 
marries the king? Will you go with her to Tyrsanghee?” 

“Not if I can help it,” replied Mrs. Willis, with decision. 
“I really do not think Beatrice would want me to do that.” 

“Your presence might make her life more endurable.” 

“On the other hand, it would be well to keep a home open 
for her here — in case of divorce.” 

“You thing it might come to that?” 

“Can anyone think otherwise? And after all it may be the 
best solution.” Mrs. Willis’ mind was working well. She 
was once more optimistic. “Her marriage would annul the 
debt we now owe, and her alimony would take care of us 
afterward.” 

“It may have to be done,” faltered Franklin, “it looks like 
the only way out. It wouldn’t be so bad if the king were — if 
he were really a king.” 

“Good lord, you endorsed him! Didn’t you know what you 
were talking about?” Mrs. Willis spoke sharply. “You don’t 
mean that Hicks Jarou compelled you to endorse a fraud! You 
didn’t do that, did you?” 

“No, oh, no! I meant to say — oh, why do I have to be 
mixed up in this damned affair!” 

“Franklin Potter, what do you mean? I think you owe it 
to me to tell me exactly why you do not want Beatrice to marry 
King Omar-Kouli, if you really do not want her to. Is it 
because you want to marry her yourself ?” 

“She doesn’t care for me. She wouldn’t marry me, even if 
the king married Evelyn Somers, as we all thought for a while 
that he meant to do. Beatrice told me very definitely that she 
could not marry me because she loved another man. And even if 
she were willing to marry me I could not assume your debts.” 

“Well,” replied Mrs. Willis, “the king is young, handsome, 
wealthy, yes, and I presume he really is considered interesting. 


HICKS JAROU 


203 


The only question is did you live up to your own standard when 
preparing his genealogical record?” 

“You have no cause to worry about that,” replied Franklin 
Potter in his most convincing manner. 

“I’m glad to hear that. Well, I must be going. How I wish, 
Franklin, that you could have helped me. I don’t want her to 
marry the king.” 

“Neither do I. We are both absolutely powerless to save her. 
It is horrible! Horrible!” 

They both looked as they felt — miserably unhappy, fiercely 
resentful, fearful of the future, ashamed of their slavery. And 
yet, so powerful are the tentacles of wealth, so alluring the 
life of ease, that they could more easily sell their own souls 
than take the step that would compel them to get out and 
hustle for their bread and butter — granting that they could 
have secured the butter. 


CHAPTER XV. 


While Mrs. Willis was having her conference with Franklin 
Potter, her daughter had also dressed for the street and was on 
her way to see Hicks Jarou. 

Beatrice had decided that she could not be comfortable until 
she had told him, in no uncertain terms, just what she thought 
of a man who was willing to buy a white girl as men used to 
buy negroes. She meant to put it just like that. She would 
give him no opportunity to plead, what she recognized as a fact, 
that in these days the money consideration was usually a decid¬ 
ing factor in marriage. Neither did she intend to allow him 
to say too much about the part her mother had played in the 
transaction. She meant to declare that he had taken advantage 
of a widow, inexperienced in business, who was in desperate 
trouble, financially, for no more reprehensible reason than that 
she had loved her only daughter too well and had been too 
indulgent. 

In her heart, Beatrice did not believe that. She had reached 
the dreary conclusion that her mother’s love for her was second 
to her love for her own comfort—that she would let her 
daughter suffer greatly if that would ward off even a little 
suffering for herself. She felt quite alone in the world since 
she had come to this conclusion—as if she had lost a dearly 
loved mother. And yet she did not blame her mother. She 
realized too clearly what the worship of wealth could do for the 
individual and the social world. Her mother was in the toils. 
She could not get out because she could never be brought to 
believe that the world held anything more desirable. 

“And she really is my mother,” thought Beatrice, “although 
she seems more like my child. I can never again look up to her, 
but I shall always love and pity her. And I owe her every care 
and comfort I can give her.” 


204 


HICKS JAROU 


205 


Beatrice resolved that her world should never know of the 
disillusionizing process going on within her. Her mother’s 
defects should never be advertised. She should be upheld as 
the queen of motherhood. 

Because she was suffering so intensely, she determined to 
do her best to make Hicks Jarou suffer also. She did not ask 
herself why she wanted him to suffer, or why she wanted to be 
the one to make him suffer. She was acting blindly according 
to the urge to go to him—the man she had called her best 
friend—and hurt him to the core. 

Had she analyzed that undefined urge honestly, she would 
have realized that she wanted to make him suffer because he had 
not asked her to marry him—thus providing what she believed 
to be the easiest and pleasantest way out of her difficulties. 

Beatrice decided to walk to Jarou’s house—she always thought 
more clearly when on her feet—and she preferred to have the 
conference in his home than in her own, where her mother 
might interrupt them at any moment. She realized that un¬ 
married girls were not expected to call upon unmarried men 
in their own homes, even in these days when many of the girls 
she knew were declaring themselves absolutely independent of 
all social customs that happened to interfere with their desires. 
She followed their revolutionary pronouncements at a safe dis¬ 
tance, and declared her independence when it did not seriously 
matter—but at heart she was a nice girl, obedient, modest and 
self-respecting. She did not feel quite comfortable going alone 
to the home of Hicks Jarou to make him suffer as he deserved, 
but she had no intention of turning back. 

She had reached the street that ran along beside the park for 
several blocks—beautiful Willow Street, so named for the giant 
willow trees that lined it on both sides, and made a lovely leafy 
roof for young couples who usually chose that street for their 
moonlight walks. She and Percy Southdown had sauntered 
down that street and into the park on many an evening, exactly 
as young people without automobiles were doing, and had en- 


206 


HICKS JAROU 


joyed a thrill that an automobile or even an airplane never gave 
her. She was thinking about that—wondering what life would 
have been like if her lover had been what he pretended to be— 
a young aristocrat with time, money, everything that life could 
offer at his command. Percy had been a most satisfactory 
lover. That had been her happy time. She believed that she 
had given him a love that was better worth having than any¬ 
thing she could ever bring another man. And he had been 
unworthy. He had killed the beautiful emotion he had kindled 
in her heart. She wondered if he ever thought of what he had 
done to her life—and was sorry. 

And then she felt the old familiar touch on her arm. His 
hand rested under her elbow, in the old way, and he was gently 
turning her aside from the street into the narrow shady path 
that ran along one side of the park and was known as Lover’s 
Lane. She turned astonished eyes in his direction. How strange 
it was to see him clad in the garments of a workman—when 
in all other respects he appeared to be so unchanged. 

“Aren’t you—presumptious ?” she managed to inquire, icily. 

“Very,” he replied with a smile; “but I hope you’ll forgive 
me, if I promise not to do it again.” How friendly his voice 
sounded. She had forgotten what a pleasant voice he had. 

“Why have you done it this time?” she was still exceedingly 
dignified—but she was going where he guided her without 
making any effort to escape. She was very curious to know 
how much of the old Percy remained. She wanted to hear 
what he had to say. She believed that her love for him was 
dead—that she would not marry him, now, even though he 
might have a fortune to offer her—but she suddenly felt that 
in spite of all that had happened, she could trust him—that it 
would be easy to tell him all her troubles—to ask his advice— 
in fact, she welcomed this opportunity to be alone with him. 

“‘Why have I done it this time?” he repeated her question 
with his old-time grin that she had always found so irresist- 
able; “principally because I happened to be at this particular 


HICKS JAROU 


207 


spot at the same time you were, I suppose. I’ve been wanting 
to talk with you—but not at your home—and I was not sure 
you’d come here for a walk if I asked you to.” 

“I certainly should not,” replied Beatrice with haughty de¬ 
cision—“but now we are here, we may as well be seated.” 

They both realized, when seated, that they had chosen the 
park bench where some of their happiest hours had been spent, 
and so they both became a little awkward in their effort to 
appear absolutely unaware that there could be any reminders of 
their past that were not buried long ago. But it wouldn’t 
work. There was something between them that must first be 
cleared away—there were thoughts clamoring for expression— 
a bond that had not yet been broken and which must be forever 
destroyed before they could be comfortable together. 

“Percy,” she said, brokenly, “why did you do it?” The 
question surprised her as much as it did him. Her unexpected 
yielding to emotion angered her. She must—she would—call 
back her dignity. 

“Don’t call me that—ever again—please!” Percy—Nathan 
was speaking, and with something more in his tone than pleading 
or decision. “That name,” he said, “represents a phase of my 
life of which I am desperately ashamed. I went into all that 
nonsense more for a love of adventure than anything else. I 
wanted to see if I could put it over. It was exciting at first. 
I never dreamed that I should meet you—learn to love you— 
learn to hate myself because of my love for you—God, how 
ashamed I am when I think of it. I’d give half my life—but 
that is not what I wanted to talk to you about.” 

“Couldn’t you have confided in me—if you really loved me?” 

“Not as I was—before—you know! Let’s not talk about 
it. It doesn’t help to mull over a thing like that. I was a 
coward in those days. If I had told you who I was—what I 
was—I should have lost you.” 


208 


HICKS JAROU 


“You lost me as it was; but you might not have lost me, 
had I been told the truth. A title never appealed to me very 
strongly.” 

“But there was the disgrace! What I had done was so 
outrageous. No one could have forgiven that.” 

“I might have done so. I think I could have realized that 
everyone makes mistakes. Of course I might not have felt all 
that just at first. Very likely Fd have been difficult—but 
somehow I believe I should have understood eventually.” 

“But I had spent nearly all the money I had. You would 
never have married a poor man.” 

“How do you know that? I don’t know it. I’ve never 
been poor—I don’t know what it would be like to be poor— 
but I was very fond of you—while I trusted you. The awaken¬ 
ing was terrible. Oh, I suffered—but I didn’t let anyone guess 
that. My pride carried me through.” 

“I know. I watched you. I guessed what you were endur¬ 
ing. It was the worse part of my punishment to know that 
I had given you every reason to despise me.” 

“Why did you remain in Royalton? How could you bear 
to meet those who had known you—before it all happened?” 

“There were many reasons for my remaining—not the least 
of which was that I saw I might be of real service to Hicks 
Jarou. He gave me an opportunity to regain my self-respect 
—in a measure—and at the same time repay him for what he 
did for me. And when I had gone through my amazing ex¬ 
perience—the old life was almost as if it had never been. I see 
clearly, now, think clearly—my memory is excellent—but how 
much of the old life seems like a dream. I’m sorry for the 
chap who could waste his time as I wasted mine. I’m very, 
very thankful for my opportunity to prove that I am not all 
bad. Actually, about all that has survived that terrible experi¬ 
ence is my feeling for you.” 


HICKS JAROU 


209 


“Why did you not ask for your money back? Why begin 
at the bottom without a penny, when ten thousand dollars be¬ 
longed to you?” 

“That money was not honestly earned. I felt that it would 
do me no real good. I was glad to be rid of it.” 

“Why did you say in your will that you were sorry for 
Franklin Potter?” 

“I am sorry for him, but I can’t tell you why. He knows. 
It is his secret, not mine. Beatrice, that is one of the reasons 
I wanted to have this talk. I don’t want you to marry Franklin 
Potter.” 

“Who told you anything about that?” 

“I haven’t forgotten the days when you played us off against 
each other. I was often fiercely jealous of him—and I have 
reason to know that he was even more fiercely jealous of me. 
Now I am out of the running—but I just saw your mother go 
into Potter’s beautiful private office. I was there making some 
repairs. I overheard a question concerning his finances—don’t 
think I stopped to listen for I didn’t. But I heard enough 
to guess what was in your mother’s mind—and I determined 
to warn you.” 

“Warn me? After acknowledging that you are jealous of 
him?” 

“That I was jealous, dear; that is all a part of the past. Now 
I only want what is for your real happiness—and I am con¬ 
vinced that Potter is not the man to make you happy.” 

“He seems to be fond of me,” said Beatrice, with a little 
secret smile. She could not resist the opportunity to test him 
—to discover if he still cared enough for her to be jealous of 
her. 

“I fancy he cares as much for you as he can care for any¬ 
one except himself. Franklin Potter is absolutely selfish; he 
will never allow anything or anyone to come between him and 
his personal comfort. I know that. He is one of the men 
who will probably always be called a good representative citizen 


210 


HICKS JAROU 


—but he is also one of the men who could even kill his own 
wife if he wished to marry a younger or wealthier woman.” 

“What a horrible thing to say about anyone!” 

“I wouldn't say it if I believed a less pleasant statement would 
influence you—as I hope to influence you. You can make 
s( me man a wonderful wife, Beatrice; don't waste yourself 
on a man like Franklin Potter.” 

'‘But I think you have been unfair to him. You make me 
wish to take his part. I had not supposed you could say such 
an awful thing against anyone.” 

“As I have tried to explain—I am doing it to save you.” 

“And I feel that you are doing it because you are jealous.” 

“Beatrice, listen! I am going to tell you a secret, and I 
am going to do so believing that you will never tell it to any¬ 
one. It is this: I had received an anonymous letter threatening 
me with death if I did not break off our engagement and leave 
the city. I traced it down and learned, what I had suspected, 
that it was sent by Franklin Potter. That is why I said in my 
will that I expected to be killed. That is why I pitied Franklin 
Potter.” 

“And then you very courageously committed suicide and 
left me to the tender mercies of a man like that!” 

“No, I did not commit suicide. Poor old Potter shot me!” 

“Shot you! Do you mean that? But of course you can’t 
mean that!” 

“That is what happened. Of course he was beside himself 
with jealousy. He didn’t realize what he was doing. And he 
has suffered. I don’t want to add to his punishment — but 
neither do I want you to marry him.” 

“I had no intention of marrying him. I have told him so.” 

“Oh, Beatrice—if I had only known! It wasn't kind of you 
to let me go on—misunderstanding. I need not have told about 
poor Potter—if you'd played fair.” 


HICKS JAROU 


211 


“But why should you keep a thing like that? I think it 
ought to be told. Why let him go on as if nothing had hap¬ 
pened—as if he were not a murderer—” 

“Beatrice, remember, I trusted you. And in a way, you got 
that information when you were not entitled to it; you deceived 
me. It is not fair for me to judge Potter. I hold nothing 
against him. In fact, his act gave me the most wonderful ex¬ 
perience a man could have. It made me acquainted with the man 
I was born to be—with the man I hope to become. I never 
meant to mention Potter’s mistake to anyone. You know I 
would not have done so if I had not believed it was the only 
way to save you.” 

“Yes. I was wrong to let you imagine I meant to marry 
him. Please believe I’ll never tell anyone what you have just 
told me.” 

“Thank you. I’m sure you won’t.” 

“I can’t imagine why mother went to see Franklin. She 
knows I have refused to marry him.” 

“Perhaps she hopes you will reconsider. She may believe 
he has money enough to keep you comfortably.” 

“She must know that I meant what I said.” 

“Well, I have delivered my message—cleared my conscience. 
I’m feeling more comfortable about you now.” He stood up, 
as he said this. So far as he was concerned the interview was 
ended. 

“I appreciate your interest in my welfare,” said Beatrice, 
somewhat vaguely. She was thinking hard! How could she 
tell him her trouble—get his advice—keep him beside here a few 
minutes longer. 

“I must get back to my work,” he was saying, “but please 
remember, dear, if ever I can be of service to you, I hope you 
will call upon me. Won’t you promise to do that?” 

“Yes, I promise.” Mischievous dimples played around her 
mouth. “I’ll begin right now to keep that promise.” 


212 


HICKS JAROU 


He was standing before her, holding out his hand to help 
her to her feet. He thought she, too, would be on her way. 
But to his surprise she took his hand and held it. “Sit down 
a moment. Please. You see, I have not had time to ask you 
about something I want to know.” 

“You think I can help you?” He spoke eagerly. “I hope 
I shall not disappoint you.” 

“Tell me what you know of King Omar-Kouli.” 

“I fancy I don’t know anything about him that you have 
not discovered for yourself. What would you like to know?” 

“Do you think he is related in any way to Hicks Jarou?” 

“Related to Mr. Jarou! I’d never thought of that. Yet it 
would answer many little puzzling questions, wouldn’t it?” 

“Of course anyone who thinks must have guessed that there 
is some strong bond between them. Else why should Mr. Jarou 
care whom the king marries ?” 

“I think his heart is quite wrapped up in the future of 
Tyrsanghee. You’d be interested in hearing his plans for the 
village he is to build there—and especially interested to hear 
him tell about his mines. But I sometimes think he has no 
real reason for working those mines, because I believe the man 
has discovered how to make gold.” 

“No; really?” 

“I can’t prove it—but I believe it. Oh, he is a very won¬ 
derful scientist. I don’t believe the world will realize how 
wonderful until long after his death.” 

“His home is beautiful—although a little too ornate.” 

“It does not fit him at all. He doesn’t care for display. 
Sometimes he has asked me to dine with him. We would dine 
on rye bread so dry it snapped when we broke it in our milk. 
That and a little fruit was all we had; yet his servants always 
have whatever they want. His tastes are very simple, and 
while we are eating our bread and milk, he talks so entranc- 
ingly that when I leave him, I don’t remember whether I ate 
anything or not.” 


HICKS JAROU 


213 


“My, but you are enthusiastic! No one else in Royalton 
seems to adore him as you do.” 

“Possibly no one else knows him as well. And I do not 
feel that I really know him. But what I do know of him 
appeals to me powerfully.” 

“I wonder why he has never married?” 

“He is married to his scientific research. I hope he’ll never 
make any other kind of marriage.” 

“Why not? I should think he’d be just the sort of man 
who needs the care of a good woman.” 

“I believe he’d find a woman a good deal of a nuisance— 
and I’m quite sure he couldn’t make any woman happy. He 
thinks only of his research work. He would allow nothing to 
stand between him and that work. I once told him that I be¬ 
lieved he could cut up his own grandmother if that seemed nec¬ 
essary to prove a biological truth.” 

“How did you dare to say a thing like that to him ?” 

“Oh, we talk quite freely when we are working together. 
I like him, but I believe he could be ruthless. I should not 
care to be in his power. I’d never allow him to dominate me 
in the smallest matter, because I can see that it is his nature 
to dominate—and to despise those he dominates, and I’ll never 
let him start any thing like that with me.” 

“But if he doesn’t believe in marriage for himself, why is 
he trying so hard to get a wife for the king?” 

“That is quite a different matter. The king is not a scientist 
—and he expects to marry and to have children. He has 
theories about the duty of a monarch to leave the right kind 
of heirs to govern his country. He has talked with me about 
that!” 

“But still,” persisted Beatrice, “I don’t understand why Mr. 
Jarou should be so very anxious that he’d be willing to pay 
fifty thousand dollars to secure a wife for his majesty—nor 
why he should have more to say about the future queen than 
King Omar-Kouli himself.” 


214 


HICKS JAROU 


“Beatrice, do you mind telling me exactly what you are talking 
about ? I don’t get the idea. How do you know he is willing 
to pay—anything at all—for a wife for the king?” 

“If I tell you, it is understood that you keep what I say to 
yourself?” 

“Surely; if you ask me to.” 

“I do. I’ve been wishing I could talk to some one about 
it—some one I could trust.” 

“You can trust Nathan Hawkins, dear. Please try him.” 

Then Beatrice told him of the debt her mother owed, and of 
Hicks Jarou’s expressed wish that she should marry the king, 
and his implied promise that the debt would then be paid. A 
puzzled expression crept into Nathan’s eyes—an expression that 
turned to incredulity and then to understanding as the story 
proceeded. When she told about his desire that a new race 
be started in Tyrsanghee, he laughed aloud. 

“Now that sounds exactly like Jarou!” he exclaimed. “He 
is a dreamer! He imagines all manner of things that never 
could be anything more than a dream—and while he is working 
out an idea, he is absolutely dead to the world and all its 
customs. After what you’ve told me, I shouldn’t be at all sur¬ 
prised if his king were a resurrected body—just as I am—or 
a body that has been tampered with in some way, as he tampered 
with poor Three Eyes. I’m sure the king has had experiences 
beyond the grave, for he has told me of them. We’ve compared 
experiences.” 

“But would Mr. Jarou let a girl whom he had called his 
friend marry a man who—who was not—not normal?” 

“He might not consider the king abnormal. I’m sure he 
does not consider me so—yet I’ve been dead and buried, and 
my shattered heart was mended and set to beating again. I am 
not the man you knew as Percy Southdown, and the Percy 
Southdown you knew was a travesty on everything desirable. 
I am a better man today, however, than I was before I masquer¬ 
aded as Southdown, and a much better man than I could have 


HICKS JAROU 


215 


become had it not been for that experience. I presume Hicks 
Jarou is judging Omar-Kouli, not from his past, but by what 
that past has made of him.” 

“Then you advise me to marry King Omar-Kouli—and so 
cancel mother’s debt to Hicks Jarou?” 

“Lord! what a cold-blooded proposition.” 

“Isn’t it—when stripped of the polite verbiage demanded 
by our social customs. Yet you and I know of more than one 
marriage based on satisfactory financial agreements.” 

“Our engagement was different—it was, wasn’t it, Beatrice? 
I was a good deal of a rascal, but I give you my word I was 
not thinking of money or position—but only of you.” 

Beatrice thought quickly. What should she say to him? 
What was she feeling? She loved him once—she knew beyond 
any doubt that he still loved her. She enjoyed talking to him 
—but would she marry him, if she were free to make a choice— 
if her mother’s debt did not stand between them? Would she? 
A common workman ? She was convinced that he was a better 
man than Percy Southdown to whom she had been engaged. 
She knew it would not be impossible to forgive all he had done 
—that—other things being equal, his masquerade would not 
stand in the way of a renewal of their engagement. “Other 
things being equal—” yes, she could not deny it. She was 
thinking of his loss of social position. She did not mind the 
loss of the title—but to give up old friends, the gay life she 
had had, the personal comfort that had surrounded her—to 
live the life of a workman’s wife— 

“Percy,” she said soberly—“I mean, Nathan, I can see that 
I am my mother’s own daughter. If, when we met, you had 
been dressed as you are now, I should simply not have seen you.” 

“I can understand that; but after we’d become engaged—if 
I’d lost wealth and position through no fault of my own—if 
you had not lost faith in me—if I had not shamed you as I did 
—if I’d been worthy, dear, I’m sure you’d have stood by me.” 


216 


HICKS JAROU 


“Perhaps/’ she replied, doubtfully. “I don’t know. I’d like 
to think of myself as a girl of noble character—a regular 
heroine,”—she laughed a little—“but I’m afraid I couldn’t 
make good. I love to be comfortable.’ 

“Well,” replied Nathan bravely, “I shouldn’t like to be the 
man to make you uncomfortable. But we must get back to 
the question before the house—because I must get back to my 
work. You asked me if I’d advise you to marry King Omar- 
Kouli. My reply is, no; not unless you love him. It wouldn’t 
be honest.” 

“Not when it is understood to be a marriage of convenience?” 

“Perhaps, under those conditions—if you can stand for them,” 
replied Nathan, in a tone of deep disgust. “I’m afraid I can’t 
advise you,” he added, hastily. “You see, I’ve changed. Much 
that I once accepted as all right, now seems absolutely rotten. 
Goodby, Beatrice, I really must run along to my work.” 

He touched his hat, with his old-time grace, and before she 
could find a word to say by way of reply, he had left her and 
was striding away as if his main purpose in life were to get 
too far away to hear her voice, should she try to call him back. 

“Well!” exclaimed Beatrice, “that’s that! And he’s gone 
away with about as poor an opinion of me as I could ever have 
had of him.” 

For a long time she sat there lost in thought, then with a 
sigh she arose and drew on her gloves. She was hating her¬ 
self because this thought had come to her: If Hicks Jarou 
had made Nathan Hawkins King of Tyrsanghee, how much 
easier it would be for her to decide what to do. And that 
served to remind her that her errand was still undone. She 
had still to make Hicks Jarou suffer! Then she realized that 
the task did not appeal to her quite as it had before she met 
Nathan Hawkins. She could no longer be as convincing as she 
wished to be when denouncing him, for Nathan had shown her 
that she herself was open to criticism. What had she done to 
deserve anything better than she was receiving? If she were 


HICKS JAROU 


217 


bought and sold like so much merchandise was it not because 
of her own inertia? What had she ever done to remove herself 
from the merchandise class? Was not submission a form of 
acceptance? And what of her present state of revolt? Was 
she not in reality still willing to remain merchandise, so long 
as none of the details of transfer were talked of in her presence, 
and she was given the opportunity to choose her purchaser? 

She reached the home of Hicks Jarou with these thoughts 
uppermost in her mind. This wouldn’t do at all. She must 
get back to the mental condition with which she had started 
out. She had rung the bell. What did she mean to say to the 
scientist whom she had called friend? 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Runjeet Singh opened the door. He looked his surprise 
as he politely invited Beatrice to enter, and gave her a seat 
in the wide hall. 

“I will tell the master you are here,” he said, and opened a 
door on the left, which was almost directly behind her. 

Beatrice felt the disapproval in the man’s manner, and resented 
it. How dared he — a mere foreigner, to criticise her, an 
American! Then her good sense returned. “But of course!” 
she told herself. “His women would be chaperoned.” 

“Will you step this way?” asked Runjeet Singh a moment 
later, and ushered her into the library. “Will this chair 
suit you ?” She assented and he was gone. She was alone. Her 
adventure had begun. Hicks Jarou would be with her in a 
moment. What should she say to him — how begin to make 
him suffer? 

“My friend gives me the very great pleasure—” King Omar- 
Kouli was speaking. He was bowing low before her. 

“I came to see Mr. Jarou,” she said, coldly, “on a matter 
of business.” 

“Mr. Jarou will try not to keep you waiting long. He is in 
the midst of a most absorbing experiment. To leave that, at 
its present stage, would be worse than death.” The king spoke 
mockingly. “There are many things in life that are worse than 
death,” he continued, “and this is one of them. But you and 
I wouldn’t think so. Shall I tell you what I would consider 
worse than death?” 

“Since Mr. Jarou is so busy,” interrupted Beatrice, “I will 
not wait to see him. I can come another day — and next 
time I’ll be wise enough to make an appointment.” 

She had risen, as she spoke, and was turning toward the 
door. She was suddenly anxious to get out of that house. 


218 


HICKS JAROU 


219 


She wished she had not come. Even the king dared look his 
disapproval — the king who had intimated that he wished to 
marry her. Why had she been so silly as to come to a man’s 
house alone! She did not care to be classed with the women 
who did such things, although she fiercely resented any criti¬ 
cism of them by a mere man. She turned to go — with what 
dignity she could summon — but the king stood between her and 
the door. He was laughing, but there was a look in his eyes— 
a look of determination — and she knew he did not intend to 
let her get away so easily. 

“No, no,” he pleaded; “don’t run away. I was asked to 
amuse you for just a moment. Don’t make me confess myself 
a failure.” 

“I do not care to be amused, thank you.” 

“But I do so long to talk to you, quite informally, and 
without a silly audience. Please! Won’t you stay?” 

He was between her and the door. She felt certain she 
could not leave without making an effort that would give the 
situation absurd importance. 

“Why not walk home with me? We can talk on the way.” 

“No, no, no. That wouldn’t do at all. Please don’t let 
me waste any more time standing between you and the door.” 

“Oh, very well, then. But be good enough not to keep me 
long.” 

He led her back to her chair, and drew up another for 
himself — drew it closer than she liked,—and then he took 
both her hands in his. 

“Don’t do that!” she said, sharply, drawing her hands away. 
“I hate to have my, hands held.” 

“But how can I make love to you, then?” he asked, quite 
like a troubled boy. “How can I convince you that I am in 
earnest? You jeer at everything I say. You are not giving 
me a square deal. Why don’t you listen, as girls are supposed 
to listen to a man’s proposal of marriage?” 

“Because I know you are not in earnest.” 


220 


HICKS JAROU 


The king suddenly knelt before her. “Is this the kind of 
love-making you demand,” he asked, as he caught her hands 
and covered them with kisses. Then still holding her hands, 
he began to repeat an impassioned declaration from a melo¬ 
drama long since forgotten. He did it well. Then he looked 
up into her face and laughed impudently. “Is that what you 
wanted ?” he asked. 

“It was interesting — but a little too long,” replied Beatrice 
critically. She had decided to act as if she believed him to 
be joking. “One wouldn’t care to have it repeated.” 

“One wouldn’t care to repeat it,” retorted the king, sternly. 
“It is an affront to my dignity. I am a king. I have just pro¬ 
posed marriage to a girl who has neither fame nor fortune. 
A girl whose temper is easily aroused, but whose physique is 
perfect. I shall not repeat that proposal. I await your reply.” 

“Give me until tomorrow to think it over.” 

“If you mean to marry me, you know it now. You’ve been 
thinking it over ever since I transferred my attentions from 
Mrs. Somers to you.” 

“Perhaps I am wondering when they will be transferred 
back to Mrs. Somers.” 

“Jealous, eh? Well, that’s all right. That sounds good 
to me. You couldn’t be jealous if you were as indifferent as 
you pretend to be.” 

“If I appear — anything but indifferent — it is because I am 
thinking of Hicks Jarou. I’m afraid he wishes me to marry 
you.” 

“I know he does. So do I wish it. Why do you think more 
about what he wants than you do about what I want?” 

“You are thinking of yourself. He is thinking what would 
be best for Tyrsanghee.” 

“Tyrsanghee is not in any particular need of you and he 
knows it. Hicks Jarou is a colossal fraud.” 

“Stop! I won’t hear such talk. I respect and admire Mr. 
Jarou more than any man I have ever met.” 


HICKS JAROU 221 

“He is to be congratulated. Does he know how much you 
respect and admire him?” 

“He is too busy to care. He is a very great scientist. Have 
you no comprehension of what such a man means to the world ?” 

“Oh, I know that he is a student of biology — and has done 
some surprising things along his line, but I can’t see that they 
are destined to make anyone better or happier.” 

“The researches of the scientist form the foundation of 
all knowledge — you must know that.” 

“Take that hand-made body, for instance—” 

“What hand-made body?” interrupted Beatrice. 

“You know, don’t you, that he built a body out of proto¬ 
plasm — and got it to a point where it could assimilate food?” 

“No, I never heard of that. That is quite wonderful — if 
true. Do you know that to be a fact?” 

“I have so stated it. You have no reason to doubt my word. 
He started the work on the theory that the human body is a 
sort of machine whose function is to convert one kind of energy 
into another kind.” 

“Well, he is right about that, isn’t he?” 

“In a way, yes; but he thinks the body is the v whole thing. 
He believes it lives and functions and decays and dies, and 
is worked over into some other form of life — and that’s the 
end of man.” 

“And you don’t agree with him about that?” 

“I know he is wrong. But he is so stupid—” 

“Oh, no, my friend; no man can truthfully call Hicks Jarou 
stupid.” 

“Don’t look so incensed. How you do stand up for your 
friends! And in a way you are right about Hicks Jarou. A 
man who could construct a human body, and design an incu¬ 
bator to grow it in — an incubator with mechanical devices 
to provide necessary artificial respiration and control circula¬ 
tion — and say! you ought to see the quality of blood he has 
manufactured! Why, I cut my finger the other day—” 


222 


HICKS JAROU 


“As your physician,” interrupted a voice icy in its sternness, 
“I must ask you to leave this room at once.” Hicks Jarou 
stood before them, his eyes a blue flame of wrath, his body 
rigid with suppressed emotion that made him quite terrible to 
look upon. Beatrice was frightened. She had never seen him 
like that. But King Omar-Kouli regarded him with cool 
insolence. 

“Since when,” he asked, “have I given you permission to 
control my actions!” He drew himself to his full height — a 
magnificent specimen of manhood — and looked upon Hicks 
Jarou with something like contempt. At that moment he ap¬ 
peared every inch a king. 

“You will come with me,” said Hicks Jarou, controlling 
himself with a mighty effort, “or I will take you by force.” 

“You will never be able to do that,” replied the king, “and 
you know it. You might, however, rend this body limb from 
limb in the effort. That is up to you. I don’t care.” 

“Oh,” gasped Beatrice, “how dreadful!” 

Hicks Jarou stepped between her and the king. “You have 
gone too far,” he said, sternly. “I command you to obey me.” 

“I must refuse,” replied the king coldly. “I do not leave 
this room until I am ready to go. It was your plan that I 
should wed this young lady. Well, I propose to do it.” 

“Without my consent ?” demanded Beatrice, haughtily. 

“I’ll win your consent, all right, all right.” This many sided 
king had dropped his air of command for the manners of a 
buffoon. “Girls always fall for me, and your time has come. 
Hicksey can’t expect me to change my mind every time he 
changes his. Run along, old top. I’m going to try out some 
mid-Victorian love-making, now. Listen Bee! You know 
you’re interested. I’m about to mention your strong points— 
from the stand-point of a king who has found his queen.” 

“Are you annoyed, Beatrice?” asked Hicks Jarou solicitously. 
“You are not obliged to listen, if you don’t care to. This fellow 
is not in his best mood.” 


HICKS JAROU 


223 


“Old man, you make yourself scarce. Hear me?” The king 
was speaking, and he was very angry. “If you interfere in 
any way between Beatrice and me, I’ll leave this precious 
handiwork of yours in such a condition that it will never 
again find a tenant.” 

“Listen!” exclaimed Beatrice to the king. “There is some¬ 
thing I do not quite understand. Do you mean to say that 
you are the body of which you have been telling me?” 

“I am living in that body,” replied the king. 

“And you made it — out of protoplasm?” she asked Hicks 
Jarou. 

“I made it — such as it is.” 

“What's wrong with it?” 

“I don’t know, but I’ll find out if it takes the rest of my life. 
Having gone thus far, it cannot be my lot to fail now. Beatrice, 
I’ve given years of hard work to this endeavor — I must not 
fail now. I must find the solution to the vexing problem that 
has presented itself.” 

“Seems to me you might feel fairly well pleased with your 
work—” she said, after a moment of serious consideration. 

“No, no, no,” interrupted Hicks Jarou — “not so long as it 
presents a problem which I cannot define and solve.” 

The king laughed. “Hicksey,” he said, “why can’t you out 
with it, like a man? Why not own that you’ve been wrong?” 

Hicks Jarou made no reply. His black brows were drawn 
together, and he looked like a thunder cloud. 

“Trouble is, Beatrice,” continued the king, “this great scientist 
has finally become convinced that the body is not the man. 
He is suffering from growing pains, and it makes him cross. 
He made this body — yes, don’t look so astounded: it isn’t 
such a mighty gift to the world. He really did make this body— 
but the most important fact is that he did not make me!” 

“You sound rather foolish — seems to me,” said Beatrice 
waveringly. This stupendous fact was almost too much for her 
mind, and she hardly realized what she was saying. 


224 


HICKS JAROU 


“It is an amazing statement,” conceded the king; “neverthe¬ 
less it is true. Hicksey thought he owned me because he made 
the body I’m living in. It has been a hard job for him to 
realize that the body of which he has been so proud is of no 
earthly use except when some poor wandering astral is in 
possession.” 

Beatrice turned to Hicks Jarou. “Do you believe,” she asked, 
“that he knows what he is talking about? He is your guest. 
You introduced him to me. Now tell me, is Omar-Kouli a 
real man, or isn’t he? I’ve a right to be told the truth.” 

Hicks Jarou hesitated. He was seeking words that she 
would understand. “Well,” he replied slowly, “I do not think 
you would consider him a real man.” 

The king hooted in amused derision. “I am as real as you 
are,” he declared, indicating them both quite impartially. 
“Beatrice, I’ll ask you the question I’ve often asked him. What 
difference does it make that I am living in a body different 
from that I first carried about! Do you know how many 
bodies you have had?” 

“Of course I do. What a silly question.” 

“Not as silly as you think. I happen to know that you’ve 
lived on earth at least three times before this.” 

“Oh, talk sense,” she replied, with more emphasis than 
politeness, “or else keep still. You annoy me excessively.” 

“I have been forced to admit something I never could believe 
before,” said Hicks Jarou to Beatrice, as she turned to him after 
silencing the king. 

“What is that?” she asked. “May I know?” 

“I now am of the opinion,” replied Jarou, gravely, “that our 
bodies may be moved about by some entity whose mystery I 
have not yet solved.” 

“Whose mystery you never will solve,” interrupted the king. 
“A mystery that only God knows anything about.” 

“We are not discussing God,” replied Hicks Jarou, sternly. 


HICKS JAROU 


225 


“Just hear the hard boiled egg!” chuckled the king. “Even 
yet he won’t really admit a power greater than himself.” 

“There seems to be,” went on Hicks Jarou, judicially, “some 
sort of entity that goes and comes without my knowledge or 
intervention. I must admit that I have no control over it. 
Since I have been forced to admit that fact I have felt that you 
should know. I no longer urge you to wed this mechanism. 
The entity now in possession may leave at any moment.” 

“Don’t worry about that, Beatrice,” said the king. “Of 
course anyone is liable, at any time, to have some mishap that 
will compel him to leave his body. You must realize—both of 
you—that you may die at any moment — that when the time 
comes you are helpless. As I have already pointed out, Hicksey 
may die years before I pull out of this very attractive shell. 
I have decided to stick as long as the Law allows. I mean 
by that — the great Law of the Universe — the Law that is 
beyond Hicksey’s comprehension — the Law that has appointed 
a definite time when I shall no longer be allowed to function 
on this plane. Yet, having only borrowed this body, I can 
depart whenever I so decide.” 

“That is what I’ve been trying to tell you, Beatrice,” said 
Hicks Jarou, wearily. “When I believed that I understood 
this mechanism — knew that it was made of the best material— 
that no disease lurked in its tissues — then I dared plan for a 
future race that I hoped would be superior to anything this 
world has ever known. When I realized that I had something 
I could not control — then I saw differently.” 

“Hicksey is discouraged,” said the king sympathetically— 
“and I don’t wonder., He’s had a hard jolt. When one has 
believed in himself alone — and is forced to realize that he 
is only a cog in a wheel that he did not know existed — why 
it’s enough to take the starch out of any man. He’s so blue 
that he can’t even see what an interesting thing he really did 
when he made a human body by purely mechanical measures. 


226 HICKS JAROU 

It would be a great pity to have all his effort wasted — don’t 
you think so?” 

“Yes,” replied Beatrice with decision; “I most certainly do.” 

“Well, it rests with you. I’ll agree to stick to the last minute 
allowed me, if you’ll agree to become my queen.” 

“And if I refuse?” asked Beatrice, curiously. 

The king took a small pill from his pocket. “In that case,” 
he said, “I shall swallow this.” 

“What is that?’ asked Hicks Jarou, apprehensively. 

“A bit of the most powerful explosive known.” 

“Explosive!” exclaimed Beatrice. 

“Explosive,” Responded the king, his eyes dancing with 
amusement. “When I take it, I shall fall down — hard! Fare¬ 
well, beautiful body!” 

“You have no right—” began Hicks Jarou, “that body be¬ 
longs to me.” 

“I shall assume the right to fall down — hard,” chuckled 
the king. “It won’t be the first body I have lived in — and 
destroyed.” 

Beatrice looked from the king to the scientist and back 
again — and her heart ached for the scientist. She had for¬ 
gotten how she had planned to make him suffer. Now she 
was wondering how she might help him. 

“You wouldn’t do a thing like that,” she said to the king, 
“you couldn’t be so cruel. Think of the years of patient labor 
you would render worthless! Think what the body must mean 
to him. Please, please promise me you will not destroy it.” 

“It is a shame to destroy it before the world has had an 
opportunity to know what Hicksey has done,” admitted the king; 
“but — its fate rests with you.” 

Beatrice turned to Hicks Jarou, who stood leaning on a high- 
backed chair — his face as white as death. It was the first 
time in his long life that he had sought support. 


HICKS JAROU 


227 


“I understand now, dear friend,” she said, “just what you 
meant when you spoke of me as the mother of a new race—I 
understand what that dream has meant to you.” 

“Can you ever forgive me,” moaned Hicks Jarou. 

“There is nothing to forgive!” there was an exultant ring in 
her voice. “I am honored in being chosen by the world’s great¬ 
est scientist to help him bring his life-work to completion.” 

“That means,” interrupted the king. 

“That means,” said Beatrice, “that I am glad to obey the man 
whom I consider greater than any king.” 

“That is not very flattering to me,” grumbled the king. 

“I am not here to flatter you. I hold that it is your business 
as well as mine to forget self at a time like this. We are both 
simply the instruments needed to carry out a great purpose.” 

“Do what you like with that body,” interrupted Hicks Jarou 
curtly. “I have decided that this wonder-girl is not going to 
be sacrificed.” 

“Thank you!” replied the king, with sarcasm; “but your per¬ 
mission to do as I please with this body does not affect the 
situation at all. You made certain plans — worked along 
certain lines — never once thought of the comfort or conven¬ 
ience or preference of those who were to carry out your plans— 
and as has always been the case where selfishness tried to rule, 
the time has arrived when the situation has become beyond 
your control or your liking. It is not for you to say whether 
or not Beatrice shall carry out your plan. That rests with us.” 

“I am willing to go to Tyrsanghee,” said Beatrice, simply. 
“I do not want you to feel that your work has been in vain. 
I want to help you.” 

“But hold on!” exclaimed the king; “what of me? I claim 
your attention — your fealty — your affection — your promise 
to be my wife in every sense of the word.” 

“And I look upon you simply as the work of a great scientist. 
I can not promise to give you any particular consideration. 
Of course I do not love you! How could I ?” 


228 HICKS JAROU 

“Why not?” demanded the king; “women have always loved 
me. 

“You are contemptible — but you seem to have been chosen 
to help carry out a great idea—” 

The king held up his hand — a command for silence that 
was unmistakable. 

“Say no more,” he said, sternly. “You have settled the ques¬ 
tion. I will bid you both good afternoon.” He turned away, 
and then waved them an impudent farewell, smiling at them as 
he stood in the doorway. “I wonder,” he said, “if it would 
interest you to know that I have sold my opera, and that it is 
to be produced ?” 

He closed the door and went out singing at the top of his 
voice. 

“A King was completed today. 

He's not made in the usual way. 

He’s a dummy king, so they say, 

And the devils laugh as they sing, 

Holy Smoke, what a king.” 

“What a well-poised body!” murmured Hicks Jarou, as he 
watched the king down the street. “What grace! What co¬ 
ordination ! What suppleness! the poetry of motion! a sym¬ 
phony of life.” 

“It is all that and more,” replied Beatrice, “and yet it doesn’t 
represent the greatest thing life has to offer.” 

“No,” he replied, vaguely; “no, I suppose not.” 

“For so wonderful a man,” she continued, “it is surprising 
how mistaken you have been in so many ways.” 

The starry glance she cast Hicks Jarou caused again a queer, 
yet delightful sensation in the cardiac region, which had once 
before led him to suspect that there were some delightful secrets 
about life the existence of which he had never guessed. 

“I realize,” he said meekly, “that I have much to learn.” 

“Do you think,” she asked, “that the king will do anything 
dreadful to that body?” 


HICKS JAROU 


229 


“No, I don’t think so. He has made threats before this.” 

“I—I couldn’t promise to—to really care for him. It would 
be like falling in love with a piece of furniture. But I don’t 
want him to destroy your work. You understand, don’t you, 
that a girl must look up to a man—believe in him—feel that 
she is needed in his scheme of life, or she can’t love him?” 

“Yes,” replied Hicks Jarou, absent-mindedly; “I suppose 
that is very true. To tell the truth, I’ve never given such 
things a great deal of thought.” 

“Why not begin now?” demanded Beatrice, quite unashamed. 
“You need a real home—some one to take care of you when you 
are busy—some one to be interested in your work. You need 
a good wife.” 

“No,” replied Hicks Jarou with conviction, “I should not 
know what to do with a wife. I’ve lived too long without one. 
I should not know how to make a woman happy. It would be 
a bore to try to be a good husband. It would be especially 
trying when I was particularly lost in some great secret that 
I was trying to fathom.” 

At this moment, Runjeet Singh entered the room.. 

“The worst has happened,” he exclaimed, looking the picture 
of despair. “Oh, Master, I bring you news of a tragedy! 
The body is a wreck. It is utterly destroyed. It has been 
blown into a thousand pieces.” 

For a moment Hicks Jarou looked dazed. He swayed, as if 
about to faint, and Beatrice ran to his assistance. But he 
quickly regained his composure. 

“We must not let the world know what this means to us,” 
he said, placing his hand quite affectionately on the shoulder 
of his faithful servant. “Remember, this accident has happened 
to the king—as it might to any man, our guest, and act accord¬ 
ingly. We’ll do all that custom demands in such cases.” 

“I think I know,” replied Runjeet Singh, hastening out to 
take up his part in the tragedy. “Franklin Potter will take 
care of the funeral arrangments.’ 


230 


HICKS JAROU 


“Tell him to make them impressive/’ commanded the scientist. 

“Try not to care too much,” said Beatrice, softly. “Of course 
you can make another body.” 

“Yes/ replied Hicks Jarou, wearily; “yes—if it seems worth 
while, when I have thought it over. It takes years—years— 
and if it could never be anything but a failure—but that is for 
the future to decide. Now I must think about you. You tried 
honestly to do as I wished. Your mother’s debt is paid. You 
may tell her so for me. She has nothing more to fear.” 

“You are very generous,” faltered Beatrice. 

“Not particularly,” interrupted Hicks Jarou. “What I lent 
her I shall never miss. I simply wished to make it of use in 
carrying out a dream that is now shattered. Neither she nor 
you is to blame for that.” 

“I am,” sobbed Beatrice. “I did not play my part as I might 
have done. I see that now. I could have promised him— 
what he demanded—and the body would not have been de¬ 
stroyed.” 

“No, really,” argued Hicks Jarou, “I think you could not 
have promised, because I am quite sure you love another man.” 

“You know that?” asked Beatrice looking up, almost hope¬ 
fully. “I really thought you were blind to—to—” 

“Not as blind as you think,” boasted the scientist. “I saw 
you sitting beside him on the park bench. I saw you holding 
his hand.” 

“But,” began Beatrice, “you mistake—” 

“Oh, no I don’t,” and he shook his head in quite the old way 
—like one who couldn’t possibly be mistaken. “And I’ll add, 
if my opinion is of any interest to you—that I really think it 
will be an excellent arrangement. Nathan Hawkins is the best 
man I have ever known. And with your mother’s debts all 
paid you will be quite free to do as you wish.” 

Beatrice shrugged her shoulders, a smile of tolerance on her 
lips. “I think,” she said, “that you don’t know what you’re 
talking about.” 


HICKS JAROU 


231 


Jarou stared in surprise, then a smile of comprehension 
brightened his face. “I understand much better than you 
think,” he said gaily. “The troublesome mother has been re¬ 
moved from your pathway.” 

“The troublesome—you mean—” faltered Beatrice, and then 
swayed as if faint—“something has happened to my mother!” 

“Don't worry. You misunderstand. Something has hap¬ 
pened to your mother—but she is well pleased.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“She called upon Franklin Potter. I was going in as she 
came out. I persuaded her to go back with me. I made them 
a very good proposition. They are, at this moment, going 
through the marriage ceremony. No,” looking at his watch, 
“it is later than I thought. They are now married.” 

“My mother and Franklin Potter?” 

“Your mother and Franklin Potter.” 

“I don't believe it.” 

“Not very polite, but I pardon you. The good news has up¬ 
set you—but try to see what a very fine arrangement it is.” 

“Fine arrangement! Did you compel them to do this ?” 

“Most certainly not. I simply mentioned finances in my 
most agreeable manner. Now don't look so mutinous. They’ll 
be much more contented, together, than either could be alone. 
I predict that they’ll cut a rather wide swath in Royalton, now 
that their finances permit.” 

“Mr. Jarou, why did you do this?” 

“I did not propose that either one of them should spoil your 
life.” 

“But my own mother—” 

“She could not be happy in a workman’s home, even though 
he were her son-in-law, and quite willing to support her to the 
best of his ability.” 

“Do you think I could be happy—in a workman's home?” 

“I don’t know..’ 


232 


HICKS JAROU 


“And with a man who had deceived me/’ continued Beatrice. 
“Do you think I could forget that?” 

“I don't know. We all need to be forgiven for something, 
dear child. But at least you are now quite free to do as you 
wish.” 

“To do as I wish!” mused Beatrice as she slowly took her 
way homewards. “I wonder if anyone ever can do that! I 
wonder if anyone ever knows absolutely what they would do 
if they could do as they pleased—it is all so puzzling! I think 
I could have been very happy helping Hicks Jarou—and he 
doesn’t want any help. As for Nathan—Oh, I don’t know 
what to think about him!” 









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